The Exception
by GDAE24
Summary: Before Sherlock jumps he finds out he is pregnant with John's baby but never gets the chance to tell him with Moriarty on the loose. Now, almost nine months later, he gives birth to their son Hamish. When Hamish is kidnapped by Moriarty's men, Sherlock is forced to come back and work to find him, and soon John as well. Warnings: Mpreg, birth, male lactation, smex in chapter 2. If y
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Sherlock, everything belongs to BBC.**

** Okay everyone, so here's a new story! I hope everyone enjoys it, and comments are always appreciated.**

**Warnings: ****Does contained Mpreg and the first chapter is the birth (a self-birth, which is fairly detailed, but there are warnings, so if you want to skip that, go ahead), so you have been forewarned. Also, it has male lactation – which is actually possible in real life – also known as breast feeding. So no ouchie comments or anything, I think I have warned you of everything, if you don't mind this then you are good to go! Read! **

_**Chapter 1**_

Sherlock rested his hand on his belly, tapping his fingers lightly as he looked through the small fridge. He smiled lightly and sadly as he felt a small kick come from under his fingers as he continued to tap them, humming a small tune he knew to be John's favorite.

He missed John, he missed his blogger so much, but he couldn't get to him, and he didn't know when he would be able to. He had begun to disengage Moriarty's web as soon as he had jumped, wanting to get it done and back to John as soon as possible, but after he'd passed the fifth month, he couldn't bear to risk it.

A day before he jumped, he began having strange symptoms, and he began to worry slightly at their meaning. He'd called his brother, who had come that night to talk it over with him. He'd laughed when he told his brother that the symptoms mirrored those of a woman who was pregnant, frowning as his brother looked at him seriously, not laughing.

Making his brother leave, he'd rested his hands on his flat stomach as he lay back against the bed, fighting off a small smile. They hadn't been together, him and John, all that long, but he knew John wanted kids, wanted a family, and he was excited to find out he could actually provide that for the man. He started talking to their little embryo, wondering how he would deliver the news to John. It wasn't exactly normal, a pregnant man, but when had Sherlock Holmes ever been normal?

Looking down, he shushed the, now eight and a half month old baby in his stomach as he felt a small cramp, chiding him and telling him to not do that to his daddy. He continued his humming, feeling far more tired and odd today, but he'd waved it off as pregnancy hormones and their odd effect on the male body.

He hadn't gotten to tell John, not yet. Sherlock had wanted it to be special, when Moriarty wasn't around, but of course he was unlucky enough to end up having to jump. It was an option he was suddenly fearful to entertain, the little life growing inside him making him rethink. It was proven to be too late when Moriarty shot himself, giving him no other option that would save John.

He'd cried that night in his brother's guest room, the memories of John crying over him, the flashes of their conversation. He'd tried to hint, but John, sweet John, didn't understand, not that Sherlock really expected him to. Deciding to follow John to his own grave had been a mistake too. It only made him want to run to the comfort of his lover's arms and promise it was alright, that he was really alive and he wouldn't leave again.

Mycroft seemed unhappy at the emotional change that had come over his brother after he and John became more than friends. After the second night of hearing Sherlock's muffled sobs, he kicked him out, mumbling about him finding the rest of the web and getting back to John as soon as possible rather than sitting there and not doing anything.

The comment that Sherlock was acting like a child, not just any child, but a _normal_ child, made him storm out in anger, and he hadn't had much contact with his brother or his people ever since. They had kindly provided this small flat just outside London, far enough away so as not to be spotted, but close enough to hear news and information.

Sherlock sighed, closing the fridge, "We'll have to get someone to go out shopping again, the food in the fridge is utterly horrid!"

Laughing as he felt the baby kick once again, he moved to sit at the small table, staring out of the window that made up the entire end of the kitchen wall. It was dark, the deep blue sky providing little light while those of the fogged street lamps made their way through the unlit kitchen providing enough.

Slowly, he picked up the most recent newspaper, reading the headline with a regretful sigh. Yet another interesting murder that he wouldn't be able to solve because he was dead as far as everyone knew. Scotland Yard, despite his eight and a half months away, didn't seem to be getting any better at their jobs. In his opinion, they were just as incompetent as always.

"You should probably get out soon, then I can get us back to you father as soon as possible."

Just as the words left his lips, he felt a stronger pain come from his belly, and he gasped, pressing down against his stomach. It felt different, harder and his eyes widened at the implications.

"Oh no, no, no, no. I didn't mean it!" he groaned, doubling over slightly.

Thinking back, he realized that he'd been in labor all day. The little pained had grown, coming closer together and he growled, angry at himself for not seeing the pattern.

Hauling himself up, he made his way to his cell phone, which lay in the small living room, somewhere on the couch. Making his way to the couch, he felt another contraction, now understanding what they were. He held back a pained yell as he fumbled to sit down and get someone.

Panting, he reached for his phone, quickly making his way to the bedroom, unsure of what to do. He cried out as he reached the doorway to his bedroom, this contraction slightly longer than the last ones. Cringing, he stood up, moving to the bed and laying down, propping himself up with pillows.

Feeling tears prickling his eyes, his emotions having run wild, it took all he had to not click on John's contact and choose Mycroft's. He couldn't hold back another yell as the next contraction came, whimpering as it ended, feeling a wetness spreading beneath him.

"Hello, brother dear." Mycroft's voice came from the receiver.

"Shut up and get your sorry arse over here!" he yelled, suddenly angry. He didn't want this to be Mycroft, he wanted John, but John wasn't here.

"How rude." his brother chided.

Another contraction came, and he felt as his stomach dropped, crying out as the baby began to move towards the birth canal. He instantly removed his night pants and trousers, spreading his legs instinctively.

"Mycroft," he panted, "Mycroft, please. My-my water just broke. He's coming, he's coming right now."

"I'm sorry," My croft sighed, "but it seems I won't be able to help. You see, I'm not in the country."

He cried out again, this time in distress, "Please, please, My. Come, please, I'm-I'm scared. I don't know what to do!"

"You see, Sherlock? These are the things I frown upon, emotions, sentiment, and you used to frown on them too until John Watson came along and changed you." he said bitterly.

"Arg!" Sherlock screamed, beginning to feel the need to push, but stopping himself. When it finished, he began to talk again, "I need you, please, My! You won't leave me to have this child by myself? You'll come, you have to!"

A sigh came from the other end, "Like I said, I'm not in the country, but-"

"Then you better damn well begin your flight back!" he snapped, "I cannot have this child alone, and you will come."

"I was going to suggest," he said hotly, "that I send over a doctor, special friend of mine, but now I won't!"

Sherlock threw his phone against the wall as he heard the sound of his brother hanging up, crying in agony as the baby went further down.

"John." he groaned, fear settling in. He had absolutely no clue what to do, no clue when to push, no clue what to do when the child first came. Looking around, he realized he had no supplies what so ever, nothing for delivery, nothing for when the baby actually got here. He was all alone, and he was completely lost.

Giving in on the next contraction, he pushed, a low scream in the form of John's name falling from his lips. Sitting back, panting, he held back the tears that prickled his eyes, trying to stop them, breathing deeply. He continued to whisper out John's name as the soft streetlight filtered through the open blinds of his bedroom window.

He pushed again as the next contraction came, lasting longer than the last one, and he cried out in agony.

"Oh God! OhGodohGodohGodohGod!" he cried, "Jooooohhhnn!"

[Warning! Graphic birth ahead so skip if you just, you know, can't]

He was a sweating, panting mess now, and he wondered how far along he was, exactly. Reaching his hand down, he slipped his fingers into his opening, having it stretched father than it ever was before to make room for the child's head. He cried as he felt the head of his baby, surprisingly close to being out, glad he decided to push when he did.

Bearing down as he felt another contraction, he felt himself rip slightly as the head moved farther down, almost at his entrance. He threw his head back in agony as it stopped again, allowing him to feel the full stretch inside him. This baby needed to get out of him, he couldn't do this alone. How was he supposed to do this alone?!

Trying his best to slow his breathing, feeling on the verge of panic, he gripped the sheets tightly, crying out again as another contraction came. He let out a sob, partly from the pain, but mostly, he was just scared. He wanted, no, needed John, he really, really couldn't do this by himself, how was he supposed to do this?

"Oh, John!" he cried, pushing once again, feeling the head moving out, stretching him farther than he could go. He screamed in agony as the head moved through, pulling his hair harshly and sighing as the largest part came free.

Moving his hand down, he felt his child's face, running his hand over its mall nose and lips, letting out a choked sob. John should be there, next to him, helping him, getting to see their child for the first time.

He tried to think, but his brain was muddled and no clear thought came forth, his mind going blank as another contraction tore through him. Feeling his walls stretch again was almost too much, the pain radiating through his entire being, and all he could think was John, all he felt was fear.

Thrusting his hands down again, he felt the shoulders break free, crying out with some relief as he tugged lightly, his baby finally slipping free. He waited breathlessly for a few moments, sighing deeply as a high pitched cry rang out. Feeling around, he opened his drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors with a small sigh. Inconvenient, not meant for cutting flesh, but they would have to do for now.

Snipping the edge of the blanket, he quickly pulled out a thread, cutting that and tying it around the umbilical cord. He moved shaky hands down, taking deep breaths as he slowly cut, being extremely careful of the child's skin. Sighing, he cut away the last of it, sitting up slowly to reach down and grasp his child, cradling him in his arms.

A few moments later he felt another cramp, fear running through him at the thought that something was wrong, but he soon realized that it was just the afterbirth.

[End of birthiness, you can all open your eyes now]

Letting out a sob, he watched as the baby waved his tiny fists in the air, his feet following, face contorted in anger of leaving his first home.

"Hamish." he whispered, tears of joy and sadness falling down his face, "My little Hamish Watson. Hello, welcome to the world."

Moving from the bed, he got up, grasping a post as his legs almost gave out on him, holding Hamish tighter. Achingly slow, he made his way to the small bathroom on unstable legs. He practically collapsed in front of the bathtub, grabbing a washcloth, fighting to keep his eyes open. Running the water, he dipped the washcloth in, bringing it to the child in his arms, rubbing the blood and other remnants off him.

When he finished, he got back up, staring down at his child, his Hamish, as he found his way to the small bedroom next to his. Looking through the drawers, he found some onesies and carefully pulled them on, his legs trembling from the effort to hold them up. Sherlock moved Hamish to the small crib that lay in the corner, covering him up as his cries quieted, and turned on the small monitor.

He didn't want to leave his newborn son for one second, wanting to hold him, but his tired body protested, and Hamish shouldn't be in a bed covered in fluids from birth. Sherlock finally let his legs give out, collapsing to the floor and crawling back to his room, looking back at the crib constantly until he left.

Yanking his sheets off, he pulled himself on the bed, ignoring the mess soaked through on the mattress, finally letting his tired eyes fall shut.

**Well, yeah, that was it. I really hope you guys enjoyed it and I will update again on Saturday, thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC.**

** Hello everyone, thanks so much for your reviews and fallows and kudos and favorites! Here's the next chapter, which is a flash back and has smut… is pretty much smut, really. Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 2**_

_Flashback_

It had started with a case. It had been long, very long, and trying. Sherlock hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten in the same amount, and he was ready to collapse. John, being the person he was, quickly noticed, and instead of making him walk up the stairs, he picked Sherlock up bridal style, and carried him to his room behind the kitchen.

As he laid his flat mate down, he smiled, running his fingers through Sherlock's soft hair with a large yawn. As he moved away, he didn't expect Sherlock's hand to shoot up, pulling him down, barely hearing his mumble of stay.

John fell onto the bed, just missing Sherlock, and rolling onto his back. Just as he was about to yell at the other man, he felt a dead weight on his chest, looking down to find a sleeping consulting detective sprawled over him.

He was going to push him off, he really was, but Sherlock was so cute, and the man really didn't get enough sleep as it was, and he hadn't wanted to wake him. So he wrapped his arms around the lanky man, pulling him closer and falling asleep with Sherlock Holmes snuggled into his arms.

John woke first - which was to be expected when he'd gotten far more sleep than Sherlock – confused as to where he was and who was on top of him. Blinking, he opened his eyes, feeling his chin being tickled by soft hairs. Looking down, he was surprised to find Sherlock, the memories of the night before instantly coming to his mind. Oh! Oh…

Beginning to worry, he tried to wriggle free, not wanting Sherlock to wake up and yell at him despite the fact that it was him that literally pulled John into this mess. Unfortunately, his movements seemed to jostle the younger man, and he woke, sitting up, hand on John's chest. Sherlock looked around, before staring down at John, pulling his hand back quickly and looking away, a red blush forming on his cheeks.

John stared. Sherlock Holmes, blushing? He almost laughed, but the man really did look upset, lip trembling slightly.

"I'm-" he began, gulping, "Sorry."

"Sherlock?" John asked.

The man wiped his face, and John stared, unable to pull his gaze away. Was Sherlock crying? He voiced the question softly.

"S-sorry. I'm just-I'm tired." he sighed, leaning back against the bed, curling up.

"Really?" John asked disbelievingly. He'd rarely gotten to see Sherlock like this, but he knew that when he was tired, really, really tired, the man let his walls down, let himself show emotion.

Sherlock nodded, pulling his arms tighter around himself, moving until he was once again under the covers.

"What's wrong?" John asked, moving farther onto the bed, trying to get Sherlock to talk to him.

"Nothing." he said in a too high pitched voice.

"Oh, Sherlock, it's okay. You can tell me."

"No-no I can't because then you'll hate me and-and plus, I'm just tired. I'm not-not thinking rationally, normally."

"You know what I think?" John asked, leaning back and scooting himself to the head board to lean back.

"Always." Sherlock said, lightening the mood slightly.

John laughed, watching as Sherlock turned over slightly. It was a start.

"I think this is the only time you can really think, really believe and see things normally. I think, because you're tired and you don't have the mental capacity to stay rational, you let your walls down. I think, when you're fully awake, you hide part of yourself, the emotional side, because that is what people expect you to do."

Sherlock sniffled, having turned all the way over so he was now facing John, messing with the hem of his shirt.

"You don't have to do that with me, Sherlock, I'm your best friend. I could never, ever hate you."

"You would." he sighed sadly.

"No, Sherlock, no I wouldn't. What makes you think I could hate you?" he asked, hurt.

"Because you're straight, John." he groaned.

"So?" he asked, confused now.

"And I'm not." Sherlock clarified.

John shook his head, slightly confused, "As unexpected as that news is, I told you before I even knew you that I wouldn't care."

"Why is it unexpected?" he inquired curiously.

"I guess I just sort of assumed you to be, I don't know, asexual." he explained, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Sherlock nodded slowly, "I thought I was too."

"Was?"

"Just-just recently, I think I might have-might have fallen in love with someone."

John reeled back, fighting down the clenching in his gut at the thought of another man being with Sherlock. Same went for women, but he'd always thought, always hoped that he wouldn't be with anyone. Now John might actually have to watch Sherlock date someone else? He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help the feelings that bombarded him.

"Erm, well, that's-that's good, Sherlock. That is…very good."

"You're upset." Sherlock observed.

"No, not at all-"

"I told you you would hate me!" he said, his lower lip beginning to tremble slightly.

"Sherlock, please, I don't. I promise I don't." John said, leaning down and smiling at the vulnerable man.

"Then why are you mad?!" he cried, confused. "I've never done this before, John. I'm confused, you have to help me. Why-why are you mad?"

"Because I don't want to see you with anybody else!" he burst out, throwing his hands in the air, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but-but I don't think I can help you get this guy you love. I'm just too damn selfish. It would hurt me too much."

"Why?" he wondered curiously, unsure of what this meant.

"Because I love you, you daft git." John admitted.

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock, and John began to move from the bed.

"Sorry, I'll just-I'll just go now."

"Wait!" Sherlock called fearfully as moved until he was at the edge of the bed. "You mean it? You really love me?"

"Yes," he sighed, "and I'd rather not go into it right no-"

"But you're straight."

"Well, it seems you're the exception, now aren't you?"

"Then so are you!" he rushed as John began to get up. John turned back towards him, "I was asexual. I was and I thought I always would be, no one was attractive, until-until I got to know you."

John slowly turned back together, seeing the man sitting up, arm out as if reaching for something. Hesitantly, John reached out his hand, intertwining his steady fingers with Sherlock's shaking ones. He tugged slightly, getting Sherlock to crawl up to him, not meeting his eyes.

"Really?" he whispered, tilting Sherlock's head up.

Biting his lip, Sherlock nodded, eyes flicking up to meet John's for a moment.

"I don't-I'm not sure-what do I do, John?" he whimpered, scared at being out of his territory.

John leaned forward, placing his lips softly over Sherlock's, giving him a small kiss before pulling back.

"How was that?" his breath ghosted over the smaller man's trembling lips.

It took a moment before Sherlock could find his voice and a small, "Good." came out.

Smiling, he brought their lips together again, waiting a few moments before moving them, Sherlock following languidly. Pulling back, he rested their foreheads together, breathing deeply, catching his breath slightly. Smiling, he felt Sherlock's small pants against his own lips.

Swooping in, he repeated the previous kiss, deepening it as he swiped his tongue against the seam of the younger's lips. Hesitantly, Sherlock opened his mouth, letting out a surprised moan as John's tongue came in, tasting him. This time when he pulled back, he continually planted small pecks on Sherlock's wet lips, smiling.

"Good?" he asked needing to make sure.

"Very." Sherlock said hoarsely, wrapping his arms around John's neck and pulling him back against the bed until John leaned over him. Sherlock pulled him down for more desperate kisses, wanting to feel more, see everything he'd always been missing. He felt his heart leap at the thought that John Watson was his first kiss.

"John." he moaned when the man pulled back.

"Sh, it's okay, I'm right here. I just don't want to go too fast, too far." he whispered, voice husky.

Eyes widening, Sherlock looked down to see a tent in both their trousers, "Oh!"

John smiled, "We should stop now or I won't be able to later."

Glancing back up, Sherlock bit his lip, "No, don't stop, I-I want to."

Everything paused in that moment as the two stared at each other trying to read what was going to happen next, predict exactly what the other wanted.

"You're sure?" he croaked.

Sherlock, who couldn't seem to be able to find his voice, just nodded, closing his eyes as he spread his legs farther to accommodate John. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck, looking straight into his eyes, trying to convey every feeling going through him right now. Showing to John how much he wanted this, how ready he was for it to be John.

[A warning for the brave souls, this is the beginning of the smex scene!]

Languidly, the two pulled each other's clothes off, John laying Sherlock down, their naked skin coming into contact. Sherlock gasped and wriggled, wrapping his arms around John's neck, letting him pull away only enough for him to look down into the other's eyes. John moved away again, Sherlock whimpering at the loss and watching as he grabbed a condom and some lube from the drawer after asking Sherlock if he'd kept any supplies.

John rolled on the condom, coating his fingers in the slippery substance, and moving them down Sherlock's body. Slowly, he massaged Sherlock's entrance, allowing the muscles to relax beneath his ministrations before pushing a finger in. His walls instantly tightened, but Sherlock quickly relaxed to the odd feeling, urging John to continue.

After a few minutes, when John deemed the muscles relaxed enough, he added a second finger, pausing as Sherlock winced.

"N-no, don't stop. Please!" he begged, his voice higher than usual.

Nodding, John continued, pushing in and out, beginning to scissor slightly, getting wider before adding a third finger. At this, he moved to rub against Sherlock's prostate, figuring the stretch was becoming slightly painful. Sherlock gasped, bucking his hips as John touched that spot inside him, not understanding that such a thing could feel that good.

"John!" he gasped out, thrusting his hips back, "Now, please, I'm ready now."

Once again pausing, he pulled his fingers out at Sherlock's words, "You're sure? This will hurt."

"John! Please!" Sherlock rasped out.

Slicking himself up, sighing at the slight relief, and placing himself at the younger man's fluttering entrance. Taking a deep breath, John pushed in, feeling Sherlock's walls tighten at the intrusions as a small whimper escaped his lips. He stopped, then continued for a few more seconds, continuing and stopping until he was fully sheathed inside.

John let out a groan he hadn't realized he'd been holding back, the feeling of Sherlock, tighter than anything he'd ever felt, hot, slick was almost more than he could take. It was the best experience of John's life, feeling the muscles move around him, getting used to the feeling of being stretched.

"Oh!" Sherlock said.

"Alright?" John asked, wiping a tear from his cheek.

Sherlock nodded, "Full. Move."

Complying, John slowly pulled out, then pushed in, setting a slow pace, feeling Sherlock grip his member tightly. Moving around, he found his prostate, aiming for that with every thrust.

Gasping, Sherlock began to move with John, the pain dissipating and pleasure slowly taking over. Their hips sped up, losing rhythm as the got closer to the edge, Sherlock making small noises, mewling, groaning, and gasping.

"John!" he gasped out, clenching tighter than John could ever imagine as he came, back arching into the air. Giving a few more, hard thrusts, John came as well, pulsing into Sherlock.

Catching himself, he was stopped from falling on top of the smaller man, breathing hard.

"How... was that?" he asked, trying to catch his breath as he slowly pulled out, Sherlock whimpering at the loss, once again feeling empty.

[End of smex scene]

"The betht...experienth of my life." he slurred, head lolling to the side, "When can we do it again?"

John laughed, laying down, and pulling Sherlock on top of him and covering them with a blanket.

"You'll be sore for a bit, but when you feel better, maybe then, Love."

Sherlock nodded, "I like that. You calling me Love."

"Then I'll continue doing it, Love, just for you." he whispered.

"I love you." he whispered, yawning.

"I love you too." John confirmed, kissing the top of his sweaty curls.

_End of Flashback_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to Moffat and Gatiss and BBC.**

**Okay, here is the next chapter of the story, hope you all enjoy! Be warned that male lactation does take place – which, by the way, can actually happen in real life! I Googled it and read an article and realized that I have no life… Anyway, thanks so much for all the yadas everyone has left, it is very much appreciated and always brightens my day. **

_**Chapter 3**_

Sherlock woke with a start, sitting up in bed and crying out. Looking down, it took him a moment to remember where his belly had gone, burying his head in his hands, and letting out a sob.

"John..."

That had been the first and last night they'd had together. Two weeks later, Moriarty showed up, forcing him to jump off that damned roof.

After a few moments, he realized what had woken him up, and moved out of the bed, trying not to cry out in pain at every movement. He headed towards Hamish's small room where the baby lay crying, and Sherlock scooped him up, staring at his perfect little face. It already resembled that of John's, and he would be a spitting image of his father when he grew up.

Sherlock thought for a moment, watching as his son made suckling motions with his mouth. Lifting the child up, he watched as it latched onto one of his nipples, gasping at the odd sensation. Moving slowly back to his room, being mindful of his injury and trying not to drop his precious load, he found some suitable clothing, feeling wetness on his thighs.

Still bleeding. He'd need to see a doctor, or someone that could stitch him up and be discreet.

Hearing a knock on the door, he limped towards it, Hamish letting go and wriggling in his dad's arms again, yawning as his eyes fluttered closed. Sherlock opened it, glaring when he saw his brother standing there. The older Holmes' eyes went straight to the child in his brother's arms. A woman stood behind him, and Sherlock quickly deduced that she was a doctor.

"What?" he snapped quietly, eyes going back to Hamish as he watched his son's breathing slow once again.

"I'm here to-"

"Sh!" Sherlock snapped, eyes still trained on the newborn.

"Apologize." he continued in a small whisper.

"You aren't forgiven. You never will be. Get away from me, from him."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," the woman said, stepping forward, "now is not the time. Hand me the child so I may check him over and give him his shots."

Sherlock hesitated, eyeing the woman vehemently; refusing to let his son go to a person he didn't know.

She gave him a soft smile, "Your brother has explained everything to me, and has checked me and my records over tenfold. I will not harm the child. It will take a few moments, then I will let you put him to bed before treating you."

Sherlock still hesitated, but eventually handed him over, allowing the woman to take his son into her arms. Watching carefully as she walked him into his room after she'd asked. He was about to follow, but his brother stopped him.

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock slapped him, eyes brimming with tears, "How could you? Over something so petty?! I needed you here, more than I've ever needed you before and you left me, why?"

"You were being rude." he said quietly.

"Rude?" he laughed, but there was no humor in it, "I was in labor, and I begged, _begged_ for my big brother to come, and you didn't because I was rude. I needed you, and you let me down."

"Sherlock, you are letting your emotions get to you. These sentiments, do you not see how they cloud your judgment?"

"Get out!" he cried, tears falling.

Mycroft tsked, turning on his heel and leaving the flat to wait for the doctor outside.

"It's your turn." came her voice, and Sherlock jumped, not having known anyone was there.

Nodding quietly, he led her to the bedroom before doing as she said as she placed him where he was needed, eyeing the dirty mattress before continuing. After stitching him up, she put her things away, pulling out a small syringe, and holding her hand out.

"What's that?" Sherlock eyed the device suspiciously.

"Just a painkiller. It might make you a little extra sleepy, but your body needs to heel."

"But, Hamish-"

"Will be fine. You fed him?" he nodded, "Good, he's asleep now and shouldn't wake for a while. He's almost as tired as you. Now rest, take it easy and don't strain yourself. I'd like you to sleep on the couch for now; I will get your brother to have someone bring up a new mattress."

Sherlock nodded, pulling himself up, feeling the drugs numbing the pain already as he stumbled to the couch. The doctor let herself out, telling Mycroft what he needed to know as she allowed herself to be driven home while he made a few calls.

Sherlock woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains in the small flat's living room. He winced as he sat up, but the pain was duller, more of a healing pain rather than a hurt pain. Lifting himself up, it took him a moment to once again find his balance before he made his way to Hamish's room.

He found the child squirming in his crib, eyes fluttering between being awake and sleeping again. Sherlock scooped him out, sitting at the chair next to the crib and began rocking Hamish back and forth. The baby continued to squirm and Sherlock wasn't sure what he should do, so he began to sing the song that John had sung to him once, before the fall, but after they were together.

_"You are my sunshine_

_ My only sunshine_

_ You make me happy_

_ When skies are grey_

_ You'll never know dear_

_ How much I love you_

_ Please don't take my sunshine away."_

The small boy calmed as the song went on, and when Sherlock finished, he was sound asleep in his arms. Smiling, he brought Hamish closer to his chest, lowering his head to kiss the top of his son's head.

He sat there for a while, nodding in and out of sleep himself before he placed Hamish back into the crib, and made his way to the small kitchen. Opening the fridge and then a few of the cupboards, he sighed, finding nothing he really wanted to eat. Hearing a knock on the door, he walked up, opening to reveal a couple of men. One was holding a mattress and the other held a few grocery bags.

Standing aside, Sherlock let them in, eyeing the bags in hopes that there would be something good to eat in them. He pointed towards his room, and then the kitchen, before going to hide out with Hamish until the two men were gone.

Since he was hidden out in his son's room, he didn't see the way the second man looked around the flat, taking in the settings. The man, after dropping off the mattress and watching as the other left, steadily began to make his way throughout the small flat. Glancing at the bedroom, smiling at the closed door, he made his way quietly out, noting the layout and leaving.

When he heard the door, close, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, opening the one to his son's bedroom and looking out. Seeing no one, he grabbed the small child and made his way to the living room, opening the curtains. The baby lay undisturbed in his arms as sunlight filtered across his small, chubby face. He smiled down at Hamish, raising a hand to card through the sparse hair that was beginning to grow atop the small head.

"You're going to be just like your father, aren't you? God, I hope you will be, he is a far better man than I am, a hero." he whispered as the soft light flooded through the flat, warming it up immensely.

He stood there, staring down at the small person in his arms, smiling softly as his son cooed and turned, sound asleep. As his stomach rumbled, he turned towards the kitchen, curious at what Mycroft had gotten for him, wondering if any of it was good enough for him to eat despite his abhorrence for his brother at the moment. Finding a small, microwavable pot pie, he deemed it good enough for him and shoved it in with one hand, stomach rumbling once again.

Setting the numbers, he smiled down at Hamish, knowing he was doing that a lot, but he was finally here, in his arms. Sherlock could actually see him, feel him, touch him, and he was utterly elated at the thought. To see something him and John made, both of them put into one, it was amazing, no other feeling, not even the rush of a case could compare. At the same time, he felt his heart drum, suddenly clouding his vision with tears. John should have been here, should be here now to see this, to share in the moment with the two people he loved most.

The microwave beeped, making him jump suddenly, but he instantly collected himself and pulled his food from the machine. Placing it on a place and on the table, he grabbed a fork, and sat down himself. Adjusting Hamish in his arms, he began to eat quickly, not realizing how starving he really was. He hadn't eaten since before he gave birth, and figured his body must be really needing the energy at the moment, especially to feed Hamish. After all that work, he was running on low. Once he finished one, he put in another, the first only seeming to make him realize just how starved he truly was.

_"If John were here," a voice in the back of his mind said, "he would have made sure you ate something."_

"Well John isn't here, now is he?!" he snapped back at himself.

_"And whose fault is that?"_

"Moriarty's."

_"Really? You couldn't have found any other way besides pretending to kill yourself to get rid of the man? Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"_

"I didn't-" then he stopped himself, blinking a few times. Sleep, he determined, he definitely needed more sleep.

Reluctantly, he placed Hamish back into his crib, standing over him for a moment more before turning and leaving the room, making sure the baby monitor was on. Making his way to his new mattress, he lay down, turning towards the open window, yellow light laying over him in a soft blanket. A cool breeze blew through, keeping him from overheating.

Slowly, his eyes slid shut, curling in on himself atop his covers, too tired to do much else, despite just having slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC.**

** Sorry this took so long. I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter! I'll try and keep my updates updated. **

_**Chapter 4**_

A few weeks later Sherlock found himself in the living room, holding a feeding Hamish and searching through the channels. The baby let go, gurgling, announcing his finish. Sherlock looked down and smiled, pulling his son closer to his face, burying his head in his stomach and blowing on the exposed skin. Hamish giggled, smiling widely and flailing his arms at the feeling of being tickled.

Taking his mouth away and bringing him up to look into his face, Sherlock smiled brightly, laughing as the baby laughed at his face. Allowing his son's fist to grip his hair, he smiled as it pulled the follicles slightly. Not enough to be painful, but just enough to smart.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking the baby away again so he could look at him.

Hamish giggled again in reply.

"Well, thank you. That explains a lot." he said seriously, watching as he laughed again, unable to keep his own smile off of his face. "You are a happy baby, aren't you?"

Pulling his son back close to his chest, he held him, burying his nose in the small tuft of hair that was continually growing thicker.

He determined there was absolutely nothing good on and turned the telly off, letting the peaceful orange light from the setting sun provide warmth. Just as his eyes began to drift closed, the lighting shifted, growing darker within a few seconds. Opening his eyes, he looked outside; dark clouds suddenly disrupted the peace of the sunset. Ever since Hamish had been born, the city was oddly cloudless for most of the day and through the night.

He knew it was fairly cloudless at night because he'd taken Hamish to stand by the window when he couldn't get him to sleep. Just like John used to, he would point out the stars and constellations he knew, which was very little, bordering on none, but it made him feel closer to John. As if sensing his dad was at peace, Hamish would drift off to sleep.

Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time before the clouds returned, expecting them to have come in with quite an entrance as if to make up for its absence. Thunder rolled precariously across the skies, lightning flashing as if to copy the light that once coated the room. Sherlock got up, holding Hamish tighter and carrying him to his room where the storm was slightly quieter. The little boy still smiled, seeming to not care much for the storm that should have scared him.

Laying him in the crib and watching his eyes droop, Sherlock caressed his tiny head, smiling down at the boy.

"Brave, like your father." he said to him, thumb running over a flat cheekbone, "You will be so much like him in many ways."

He stayed in there for another hour, ignoring the storm raging outside and watched his son sleep peacefully. Standing up straight, he slowly made his way to his own room, once again checking the monitor to make sure it was on, the red-light staring back unblinkingly.

O_o

He suddenly woke with a start, sitting up as thunder clashed through the air, vibrating his own bed. Rubbing his eyes, he moved to lay back down, but sat again when a sound came from the monitor, a sound that he didn't think should have been there.

Slipping from the bed, he moved towards Hamish's room cautiously. Opening the door, he looked in, making sure everything was alright and that there was nothing out of place. Not seeing anything, he sighed in relief, opening it more fully to check on his son as he was already up. Making his way to the crib, he picked up the monitor off the floor, staring at it for a moment and looking around them. Instantly he noticed that things had been misplaced and moved, and he felt his heart stop.

Dropping the monitor, ignoring the crunching sound it made as it connected to the floor, he dashed to the crib. Looking into it, he almost fainted. His son was gone.

Suddenly he saw a note lying on his son's empty pillow, grabbing it with shaking hands.

_Well, and here we all thought you dead, but I guess if I can fake it, you can as well. It took me longer to figure it out than it should have, but that doesn't matter, what does is that you have a son. Congratulations! He's beautiful, but I don't see much of a resemblance to you. You wouldn't believe how shocked and happy I was to receive this news and am very disappointed that you didn't tell me yourself, but I guess it beats being the father and not knowing. I knew you two would get it on sooner or later._

_ You're obviously wonder where your precious little boy went, and rightly so. Miss him already? Don't worry, I plan on taking very good care of him, better than you could ever offer. Personally, I think he should be mine, as you always have belonged to me despite your efforts to see otherwise. Of course, you could join us, join me, be mine, but I doubt you would take that option unless you were absolutely desperate (which you should be) and feared your son was in mortal danger. You know he's not, and I will not delude myself into thinking you will willingly be mine._

_ I have hoped to leave without a trace and figured we can play a game to prove your love and genius. Sound fun? Here is what I propose: you have three weeks to find him and I promise to take care of him and keep him healthy. If you are able to find him within this time limit, I will give him back without any obstacles. If not, you will agree to my terms, whatever they may include, or I kill him. So, the game is on, is it not?_

_-Moriarty_

Sherlock couldn't hold himself up any more, legs giving out as tears finally fell, crumpling to the floor. His son, the only thing that had kept him going all this time, taken by the very man that made him leave the only good thing that had ever happened to him, and he just took another.

Pulling himself up unsteadily, he ran to his room, pulling on any clothing he could grab and threw himself from the flat. He had no clue what to do, but he couldn't possibly find his son, how could he? Especially with Moriarty, a man whose genius almost matched his own, but he couldn't think clearly. Sentiment, as his brother would call it, clouded his mind, not allowing him to think about anything, much less figure out how another genius had captured and taken his son..

Grappling for his phone, he fumbled with the numbers and passcode, almost dropping it multiple times in his hurry. Rain poured around him as he ran aimlessly, calling Hamish's name desperately in the mostly empty streets.

"Brother-"

"He's g-gone Mycroft! He too-ook him!" Sherlock cried, tumbling forward on his hands and knees.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Mycroft asked, the arrogance quickly leaving his voice.

"He's gone My! M-Moriarty took Hamish!" he sobbed.

He wasn't too sure what happened next, but he found himself in a black car, sobbing into his brother's shoulder, lost.

"Hush, Sherlock, we must think clearly if we want to get him back." Mycroft soothed.

"I-I can't!" he cried.

Mycroft held him tighter, unsure of what to do next, but he was trying, guilt flashing through him as remembered how he treated his brother last time he needed help. He would make up for that, help his brother through this, they would find his nephew, he wouldn't sleep until his brother had him in his arms.

Slowly, the pair pulled up to a familiar building, stopping in the glow of its bright lights.

"Come, Sherlock."

"Wh-where are we?" he whispered, blinking blearily, but not truly noticing anything.

"We are getting the police."

Sherlock looked at him before he slowly made the connection.

"Scotland Yard?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, the characters and everything else belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.**

_**Chapter 5**_

Mycroft led his brother inside, covering him with his coat as Sherlock was in a state of undress, or quite improper dress. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that was now completely soaked through by the rain. Rubbing Sherlock's back as he shivered, Mycroft got them inside, leading him towards the office of a man who thought him dead.

The coat covered who exactly was beneath it, protecting Sherlock from the prying eyes of the officers at Scotland Yard. As they walked by, as Mycroft expected, many people looked up, curiously glancing over the prone man's form, yet unable to see beneath. For this, Mycroft was thankful, no one really needed to know that Sherlock Holmes was still alive except for the few men that were going to help him.

Knocking on the door, Mycroft didn't wait for an answer, letting himself in and sitting his brother down, looking up to meet the eyes of Detective Inspector Lestrade. The man stared back with wide eyes, not having seen a sign of the older Holmes since Sherlock had killed himself. Curiously, he glanced over at the form in one of the chairs, barely being able to see the person beneath.

Mycroft stepped forward, "Greg, we need your help, it is an urgent matter."

Lestrade took his eyes of the hunched figure and looked back at Mycroft, "Who is we?" he asked, nodding towards Sherlock.

"That, my dear Lestrade, is Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead at last." Mycroft informed, moving to his brother to pull the coat off just enough so the other man could see his face.

Greg gaped at the man before him, hunched, shaking shoulders, hair wild, clothes soaked, sobs racking his thin frame. The man looked horrible, as if he really were dead, but no, he was breathing, and just as soon as the shock came, it left, leaving him with anger. Standing up, he slammed his hands on the desk, making the younger man jump and the older to glare in his direction.

"What the hell, Sherlock? What did you do? Do you understand the misery you have put everyone through, what you have put John through?"

Sherlock looked up slightly, "J-John?" he asked quietly.

"Yes _John_! How could you do that to him? He was devastated, refused to get out of bed for weeks, it's lucky for him he met some girl who seems to be able to get him to actually do stuff!"

"So-o he's m-moved on? G-good." Sherlock said, looking towards his brother.

"Yes-"

"We aren't here to talk about John or Mary!" Mycroft snapped, ignoring the small look Sherlock sent his way. "We are only here because we need your help, and fast."

"Oh? And what is it the great Sherlock Holmes possibly needs my help for?"

"His son was just kidnapped by Moriarty." Sherlock let out a choked sob at Mycroft's words.

Lestrade looked at the man again in shock, "Well, isn't this great? While John was mourning you for months, and I know you two were sleeping together, you were getting some girl pregnant? Fine, now come, fill out the damned paper work!"

"I-I never got anyone pregnant!" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh? Then why do you have a child? I am not that much of an idiot, Sherlock!" Lestrade snarled.

"Back off!" Mycroft snapped.

"I'm the one who was pregnant!" Sherlock said, "And now my baby is gone and I will get him back, with or without your help!" Sherlock cried.

"Do you think I am that much of a fool?"

"He's telling the truth." Mycroft said, giving the detective a hard look.

"And how-?"

"Does this matter right now?" Sherlock screeched, on the verge of panic, "I need him back, he is mine and he was taken from me! We need to find him _now_!"

"Sherlock, you know this will take time, it's-"

"No, I-I need him back now, Mycroft! Now! You d-don't understand!" he said, going into hysterics.

"Fine, paperwork, now." he snapped at Lestrade, who handed it to him and watched as he helped Sherlock fill it out.

Handing the finished paperwork back to him, Mycroft stood, straightening his coat as he walked over to the man's desk. He watched silently as Lestrade read it over painfully slowly and looked back up at him.

"I will file this and call for the rest of the team. We will need the note."

"You will stick to the story and keep the note to yourself. No one is to know that my brother is alive nor was once pregnant; we do not wish the child to be put in even more danger."

"Fine, I expect that I am not to tell John? Everyone stays in the dark?"

"Of course," Mycroft nodded, "until I say otherwise."

"So will you two be going before or after I call everyone in?" Lestrade asked angrily.

"We shall leave now." Mycroft replied in a cold voice.

They made it back onto the streets without fuss, the car waiting patiently by the curb where they had left it. Situating Sherlock into a seat, Mycroft told the driver to go to 221B Baker Street. It was true, John did not live there anymore, not being able to stay more than a week around the haunted flat. He figured it was the best place for Sherlock to sleep and be this week, thinking that the other flat was just ad haunted for Sherlock as this one was for John.

"You need to sleep, Sherlock, let's get you home."

"I can't go back there, don't make me go back!" Sherlock pleaded.

"To Baker Street, Sherlock. Your _home_."

Sherlock looked up and blinked at him, "John?"

"He isn't there anymore, Sherlock. He left about a week after your...untimely death. It was the only thing he did after you left, moving. The week before and those after he really didn't do much."

"And he met s-someone..." he trailed off, staring blankly out the window. The influx of information was making his brain hazy and he was unsure as to what fact he could concentrate on at one moment. He wanted to think about John, to see him and apologize, he always thought about John, but Moriarty had Hamish and both were fighting over dominance for his full attention. Really, he didn't want to think about his baby being gone, it was easier, but only slightly, to think about John, but he also had to think about it if he wanted to get Hamish back soon.

"Yes, Mary." Mycroft said after some hesitation. He wasn't too sure what information he should feed his brother in this state. "She is a nice woman, has quite a large crush on John and he likes her, but I'm not sure to what degree."

Sherlock nodded, opening his mouth to speak again, and Mycroft was relieved that he was interrupted by the car pulling up.

"I believe it best, brother, if you followed behind so I may explain certain things to your dear landlady."

Quickly, Mycroft got out, moving to the pavement and opening Sherlock's door to let him out. Rain still poured down hard and Sherlock continued to shiver in his wet clothes despite the coat. Heading up the steps, Mycroft knocked, politely waiting for the old lady to emerge and let them in. When she opened the door, she gave them a sort of sad smile, stepping aside and watching curiously as another figure came in after Sherlock's brother.

"Mycroft, what a lovely surprise! What is it you need? Come, you and your guest must be frozen; I'll make the two of you a cuppa."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that would be lovely." Mycroft answered, "Do you mind much if we chat up in 221B?"

Sherlock gave him a small look, frowning only slightly, "If we must."

He nodded his thanks, pulling Sherlock up the stairs behind him as Mrs. Hudson disappeared into her living quarters. Settling himself into the familiar couch, Mycroft sent Sherlock to his old rooms, noting the slight surprise on his brother's face upon their entry. Everything was the same; nothing had been touched, as if this were a museum filled with sacred artifacts. The only thing there now that made home in the flat was dust.

Noting Mrs. Hudson's appearance in the doorway, he watched as she sniffed, looking around with morose eyes.

"Here's your cuppa, dear." her voice was hoarse, "Where is your guest?"

"I sent him somewhere; he'll only be a moment. In the meantime, I must speak with you of the most urgent of news."

Setting Sherlock's cup down, she made her way to stand in front of Mycroft, refusing to sit in the chairs that once belonged to her beloved tenants.

"When my brother jumped," she flinched, "unforeseen circumstances took place beyond the view of the public, and this includes you as well as John and many others." She looked at him curiously. "Sherlock, he had known, or assumed, what might happen when he got into that roof. He made precautions, took steps to find a viable option for his survival...away from the public eye." She blinked at him. "He faked it, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sh-Sherlock is alive?" she gasped out disbelievingly.

Mycroft nodded, looking up as Sherlock re-entered. Mrs. Hudson looked at the lanky figure that stood nervously in the frame of the kitchen, shock radiating from her being.

"Sherlock...?"

"I'm sorry." he whispered, but the words made it easily to her ears in the quiet flat.

She stood there for a while before she moved forward quicker than any old body should and pulled him into a large hug, crying happily into his shoulder. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her as well, burying his face in her hair, seeking some level of comfort.

"I suppose," Mycroft cleared his throat, "that I will head out now. I shall be back with news for you in the morning, Sherlock, and a further explanation for you, Mrs. Hudson. Make sure he gets some sleep."

"Tell John." Sherlock called when Mycroft reached the door. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but it was Sherlock's to make, so he nodded and left the now unhaunted building.


	6. Chapter 6

__**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Sherlock, it belongs to BBC.**

_**Chapter 6**_

It was John's first day off in a long time and it felt both good and bad to be able to relax. It was just, well, relaxing allowed his mind to wander, to think and when that happened, his mind automatically went to Sherlock, his Sherlock. But he was gone, and he couldn't come back no matter how much John truly wished him to.

Sighing to himself, John thought of calling Mary, a nice girl he had been growing closer to lately. He saw the way she looked at him, she liked him in a more than friends way, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that now, maybe never. He had never fallen for someone as hard as he fell for Sherlock and as soon as he had him, he lost him.

A knock came to his door pulling him from his thoughts as well as his chair. Setting down the small glass of scotch he'd just poured himself, he went to the door, opening it up to see a face he didn't think he would see again.

"Mycroft?!" he said in surprise.

"Yes, yes, Doctor Watson, I know, surprise. Now, may I please come in?" he asked, pushing himself in without waiting for an answer.

"What is it now?"

"Why does it have to be anything?" Mycroft feigned innocence.

"Well, when did you ever do anything without intent?"

"Yes, I suppose you bring up a fair point, Doctor."

"I do, that still doesn't answer my question, though. What are you doing here?"

"I am a bearer of good news this time around. It seems..." he paused, trying to put the words together as best he could in his head.

"It seems what? Mycroft?" John asked, beginning to get annoyed.

"Possibly, I am not the right person to tell you this." he mused, "Doubtful you would believe me if I did tell you."

"Mycroft! What. Is. It?"

He looked down at the Doctor, a smile playing on his face as he began to dig around his pockets. Pulling out a paper and pen, he began to write something down, folding it over and handing it to John.

"Come to this address in an hour, Doctor Watson. I believe you will find it much more welcoming now. Don't be late." with that, he left an annoyed and curious John behind him.

Opening the paper, John stared at it openly shocked. It read:

_221B Baker Street._

He growled, crumpling it up. Why did Mycroft want him to go there? Did he even understand the pain that the place brought? The memories alone were hard enough to live with, but now the man wanted him to go to the very origin of his pain. He wasn't even sure if he could handle being there without having a break down. Already he could feel wetness on his face.

Coming further back to himself, he realized small sobs were escaping his lips and that his leg was shaking unsteadily. Limping back to his chair, he sat, or fell really, in a huff, trying to get himself back under control, grasping his drink and finishing it in one gulp. He couldn't do this alone, and he knew he would do it, go to that place again.

Picking up the phone, he quickly dialed the number that had been the only line he had to sanity. Waiting impatiently, he listened to the rings, letting out a breath of relief when the, now familiar, voice came onto the line.

"Hello?"

"Mary, I-I need you."

"John? What is it?"

"Can you come over? I-I just met with an old friend and he asked me to do something. I don't-don't think I can do this alone. Will you come?" he pleaded.

"Of course, John!"

O_o

"I'm here, Mycroft. What is it that you want?" John said, pausing at the steps leading up to 221B.

"Ah, and you brought Mary. Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure." she smiled, shaking his hand.

"Why am I here?!" John asked, losing patience.

"There is someone upstairs who wishes to speak with you."

"Why here?" John asked brokenly. Mary gave him a sort of sad smile, reaching out to grasp his hand. He squeezed it lightly.

Mycroft's eyes went straight to their grasped hands, "Well, it seems the most convenient place at the moment for his housing."

"You're letting someone stay here?" John asked, feeling slightly betrayed.

"Yes, but I believe he has every right to the place. He felt it was time he meet you, decided it when he got here last night."

"Why does he want to meet me?" John asked suspiciously.

"Why don't you come in and ask him, Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asked, opening the door and walking inside.

Hesitantly, John followed, pulling Marry in behind him. Taking a deep breath, John began to climb the stairs, voices echoing in his head as he remembered everything the two did together, memories flashing before his eyes. Unconsciously, his hand tightened around Mary's, thanking his lucky stars that she seemed hardy enough to not utter a peep, even though the hold might now be becoming painful.

He heard Mycroft's voice saying something, speaking to the man, he assumed, that was now in the flat. Pausing once again before the door, he slowly opened it, blinking a few times as warm light flooded into his vision. Looking around he noted Mrs. Hudson sitting in their old couch, hands in her lap, but in her lap lay ahead.

Dark curls that looked so familiar lay messily in the old woman's lap, her aged hand running wrinkled fingers through them. A body lay on the other side, lanky and covered in a large coat that John had sworn had gone into the ground.

The face looked up, pale skin, blue, red-rimmed eyes, cupids bow lips turned down in a frown, and John couldn't breathe. He stepped forward, mouth open, tears leaving his eyes, head shaking in disbelief.

"Sherlock?" he gasped out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.**

_**Chapter 7**_

Slowly, Sherlock got up, feet laying themselves on worn, old carpet that he'd missed, bringing him towards the face that was in his every thought, waking and sleeping. He found himself standing on front of John, tears in his own eyes, but they refused to fall. He'd cried himself out the past day, he didn't think he really did anything else since Moriarty took Hamish.

"Oh my God!" Mary gasped out, hands going to cover her mouth.

Reaching his hand out, Sherlock wiped a tear away, "I'm sorry."

John pushed his hand away, "No. No, you-you don't get to do this to me, you don't get to. I've accepted it, you're gone, were gone. I was working on it, getting over it, getting over you!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What, Sherlock? What?"

"I had to protect you!" the tears fell.

"From what? What did you have to protect me from that involved you making me think that you were-were dead?! You don't get to do that-this!"

"I-I-"

"What?!" he waited and Sherlock tried to put the words together in his head. "God Dimmit Sherlock! I-I can't." he turned to leave.

"John!" he called, feeling his world slowly breaking apart.

"No! I don't want to hear it, you, I don't want to deal with you. Not now, not ever! You made me think you were dead for-for ten months, almost a year! You can't-you don't get to do this to me, I can't forgive this, you, you are too much."

John quickly turned on his heal, jogging out of the flat leaving Sherlock in tears, his own flowing down his face. Sherlock turned himself, fleeing to his room, Mrs. Hudson following, leaving Mary and Mycroft standing alone in the living room together.

"He's alive?" she asked.

"He is." Mycroft nodded.

"Why?"

"Why is he alive?" Mycroft asked.

"Why did he leave?" she amended.

"That, Ms. Mortson, is a long story."

"Then why is he back?"

"Persistent." he noted, "His son was kidnapped."

"He-?"

"Got pregnant."

"What?" she asked confused.

[Awkward fake science. Tried to make it as believable as possible, but, eh, make pregnancies are hard to make realistic, you know?]

"He was born with both male and female organs. The uterus, as he grew older, seems to have connected to his anal tube at a downward angle so his...feces didn't infect or dirty the uterus, but it allowed for the sperm to have access to it. As the fetus grew, the uterus moved to the front of his large intestine, allowing the baby bump to form properly and give the child room to grow. It seems that as time grew closer to the birth, the estrogenic hormone his body readily produces both because of his sexuality and the recessive organ worked on preparing the anal intestine for birth, allowing for minor tearing and easy stitching."

[Did that sound scientific enough?]

"This sounds like something from science fiction." she finally said after a while.

Mycroft shrugged, "Who's to say it's not? All I know is that that is the explanation my specialized doctor gave me."

"And why are you telling me this? What about John? The-oh God, the child is his!"

"Correct, and John would not listen to me, and he just made very obvious he wouldn't listen to Sherlock, even if my brother did try to speak with him. You must admit, what I say is quite hard to believe."

She gave a small laugh, "Yes, a little."

"It is my belief that you can talk to John Watson and convince him that this is the truth."

"And it is? This isn't some ploy?"

"Please, Ms. Mortson is it?" he inquired with a raised brow, "I think a person like you would know if I were lying."

"I will talk to him." she said.

"Be sure you do, and please don't let your petty feelings, or missions, get in the way of that."

"What are you trying to imply?" she asked.

"Nothing." he said, twirling his umbrella and heading towards the staircase, "Just that you might want to find someone else to use, John Watson is taken."

"I would never-"

"Don't lie. I don't believe your feelings for Doctor Watson aren't there, I can see you care for him deeply, but was being in a loving relationship with him your first intention when the two of you met?"

She opened and closed her mouth, "I-"

"Doubtful. Good day Ms. Mortson."

She stared after him in shock for a few minutes, before she turned and went into the kitchen, following the steps the other man went. Opening one door, she found the bathroom, pausing in front of the other one before she knocked. Hearing a muffled voice, she let herself into the dimly lit room.

"Hello dearie." Mrs. Hudson said. She sat on the edge of the bed, hand on the other man's shaking shoulder, trying futilely to provide some comfort.

"I just wanted to say that I will talk to him."

Sherlock turned slightly, lifting his head, "Y-you will?"

She nodded, "Yes. I'll let you know what he says."

"Why?" Sherlock asked as she turned to leave.

Pausing, she looked at him, "He loves you." she sighed, "And as much as I want him for myself, you and your son need him far more than I do and he loves you far more than he could possible ever love me, and I believe you'll love him far more than I can. Even if I hate to admit it."

"Thank you!" he called as she left.

A phone beeping rang through the darkness, shattering the silence with its high pitched voice. Picking it up, Sherlock squinted at the screen, seeing an unknown number calling him.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Well, didn't think I'd call you back this soon, now did you?" came a voice.

"John?!" he asked, siting up.

"The game just got harder, Sherlock. Better find me soon or else I die, our child following after." it hung up.

"John?! John!" he yelled into the phone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing. Everything belongs to BBC.**

_**Chapter 8**_

"We have to go now, we have to!" Sherlock cried hysterically. "They're both gone, the two people I wanted to protect most are back in harm's way, and it's all because of me!"

"Sherlock, Sweetheart, you have to-" Mrs. Hudson began. She sat on his bed, tears in her eyes as she watched him frantically gather clothes and shove them on himself.

"Don't-don't tell me to calm down!" he snapped, leaving his room to grab his shoes and coat.

"Sherlock, dear," she said, following him out, "this-this is far bigger than you. That man he, oh God, Sherlock he made us all think you were d-dead! I-I can't go through losing you again."

He stopped, scarf around his neck and turned to the old lady, tears going down his cheeks, they had been almost non-stop since Hamish was taken. His hair was still mussed, and his clothing was in a form of disarray from the hurrying.

"And I can't lose them." he choked out, his coat twirling behind him as he left.

Getting onto the streets, he realized just how utterly lost he was. For the first time in a long time, he honestly didn't know where to start. Turning to look up and down the street, his mind was blank, even more so than before, wondering what his next few moves were.

"Spare change?"

Spinning around, he saw one of his homeless network smiling at him, shaking the rusty can, the little amount of money she obtained jangling like bells to his ears. Digging from his coat, he stuffed what little money he had into the cup, looking at her with begging eyes.

"You saw them?"

"Mm, taking him?"

He nodded frantically.

"I believe it was down on that block just below, on the corner. They drove up and pulled aside, two large men getting out. When he noticed, he ran and reached for his gun. The pair tackled him to the ground, not giving him any time and dragged him into the vehicle. They came back up and turned right on the next street."

Sherlock breathed out, "Did you get the license plate?"

She thought for a moment before shaking her head, "But I believe he might have." she pointed to the man sitting on the flat stairs the next building over.

Running up, Sherlock looked down at him, "Do you?"

The grey haired old man gave him a toothy, holding out his hand. Sherlock looked to the woman next to him, having given her all of his money.

"Pencil and pad?" he said in a croaky voice.

Sherlock instantly turned back, reaching frantically back throughout all of his pockets, a small amount of relief washing over him as he found some spare parchment. Handing it to the man, he watched as he wrote the numbers and letters down, handing it back to him.

"What kind of car?" he asked.

"Black Honda Accord, tinted windows."

He smiled, the tinted windows would make the car different, make it stand out. It was somewhere to start.

"Will you send an alert?"

"Already did."

Just as he said it, his phone went off, providing the most recent location, group messaging the license plate, and wondering how to get there in time. The streets were empty, for once, no cabs in sight as well as any car. A cab would be too slow anyway. Beginning to run up the road, he turned, hearing a loud roar. Looking up he saw a motorcycle heading up the street.

Dashing out, he held his hand up, praying to any deity that existed that they would stop for him. All he needed was to talk, if they talked to him, he could use the motorcycle, he knew he could convince them.

Hearing the breaks screech was one of the best sounds in all the world, the vehicle stopping miraculously right in front of him. The couple got off just as his phone beeped with another text alert.

He dug through his pockets, wondering if he still had it somewhere in his beloved coat and feeling its hardness in his pocket was great.

"What the hell, man?!" the guy yelled, taking his helmet off and getting into Sherlock's face.

"Police business." he explained, holding up the badge he'd nicked from one of the officers; he couldn't remember which.

The guy looked him up and down, "You don't look much like a policeman."

"I'm not, I'm a detective, and I need your vehicle."

"Why would I-?"

"For Christ sake!" he yelled, hearing his phone beep again, trying to stay calm, "A small baby was just kidnapped. I have leads that I need to follow and a cab would be too slow. Sir, he'll die if I don't find him, he's only three weeks old."

"Jesus!" the woman said, "Mike, let him have it. His badge looks real enough, we'll just pick it back up at the station. It will be taken back there, correct?"

"Yes!" he snapped, "But that doesn't matter right now, please!"

"I don't-"

"Mike!" she snapped, snatching the keys from his hand and throwing them to Sherlock before the man could protest.

Catching them, Sherlock hopped on the bike before they could change their mind and stop him, revving the engine and leaving. Cool air whipped his hair as he shot down the street dodging the cars that came his way easily. Heading to the most recent spot, he went through his mind palace, being thankful that he still had the maps of London memorized.

Quickly learning how the controls worked and getting used to the feeling, he was soon expertly moving the vehicle along the quickest path. Sometimes this included the sidewalk, making people jump out of the way, angry yells following in his path. Not caring, he continued on until he reached the most recent spot. Barely stopping, he pulled out his phone, reading the next location before zooming off.

The last location led to the tube, Sherlock stopping in front of its entrance and getting off, not caring what would happen to the vehicle. Running in, he found one of his people standing in a corner. Glancing up, the man pointed towards the machines, and Sherlock looked over as well, breath catching.

He saw two large men holding a man of the same build as John, a black velvety bag hanging over his head. John was struggling, yelling curses as the subway began to pull up, people avoiding the trio as the men shot threatening glares.

Sherlock dashed towards them, hopping over the machines, ignoring as the alarms began to go off, knowing security was most likely now behind him, and if they weren't, they would be very soon. This meant he had very little time. The men noticed him instantly, eyes going wide as the doors opened, yanking John inside. Sherlock called for him, trying to get to where they were moving in the back of the car.

The metallic, female voice came on over the intercom like a signed death warrant, the doors beginning to close in what seemed to be slow motion. Sherlock sped up, reaching the doors just as thy closed, banging on them frantically. Security caught up to him as soon as he stopped, grabbing him roughly and pulling him away as the subway began to move forward.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, trying to shake them off, "Stop the train, please!"

His anguished cries echoed around the station to no avail, the subway already having left, its lights fading into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat.**

_**Chapter 9**_

"Give 'im to me."

"But sir, we have to take him into processing."

"I don't give a damn, to me, now!"

It was quiet for a while, then voices exploded around him until it grew quieter, until it was quiet once again.

"Why did you do that?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?!"

Everything seemed jumbled in his head, the images of John in his head, the feeling of finally being so close, yet so far.

"You didn't get there in time. You didn't get there in time." a mocking voice continued to say in his head.

"Sherlock!"

That voice sounded real, but he couldn't really tell anymore, what was real and what wasn't, at least not with the voices. Feeling his head being pulled up by his chin, he found himself looking into the eyes of Lestrade, blinking in hopes to clear his mind.

"Sherlock?"

Softer, less harsh, less loud.

"Sherlock."

The sound of his name matched the movement of Lestrade's lips. He pushed back the other voice, the mocking one that sounded a lot like Moriarty.

"Lestrade." he croaked.

"Yes, yes, what happened?" his voice sounded nicer, not as accusatory or angry as last time they had talked.

"Th-they took him." he said, lips trembling, "I-I tried to stop them, but-but I was too late. They ha-have him!"

"Hamish? Sherlock, they took him a while ago." Lestrade said, wondering if the man had gone insane.

Sherlock shook his head, the reminder of his son making his lips tremble more, "N-no. John, they-they took John."

"What?" he asked, "Are you sure, Sherlock?"

"Of course I'm sure!" he cried, "H-he called me! It was th-the same tone he used when-when he was strapped to that b-bomb!"

"And what tone was that?"

"Metallic, emotionless, robotic, controlled." Sherlock rambled angrily, "Why does this matter?! Get them back, get them back!"

"Calm down." Lestrade snapped.

"Don't tell me-"

"What happened to you, Sherlock? The ever so composed, so emotionless man no longer sits in front of me. How do you expect to be of any more help to us if you're flying around without a straight head? We have no use for that on our team."

Sherlock instantly shut his mouth, looking away and losing himself in thought once more, wondering what exactly was happening to his child and the one he loved. Those words, the words resounding in his head, those were the reason he hid himself off, became this emotionless sociopath. They would hate this side of him, berate and fire him for it. He couldn't make them happy being a sociopath, couldn't make them happy having emotions, but at least with the former he could still work.

"Go home, you aren't any use to us here." Lestrade muttered.

Sherlock stood quickly, hiding the hurt look that wanted to plaster itself on his face, and fled the office. As he ran outside, he tried to calm himself once again, trying to get his brain to work, to think, help him find them. He sighed, wanting to scream, but holding it back, beginning to walk towards 221B.

Ignoring the cars that passed by, the people that walked towards and away from him, everything, he tried to think. His feet automatically carried him towards his home, body knowing exactly where it needed to be. He needed John, John always helped make sense of his jumbled thoughts, was always able to calm him so that these thoughts weren't all that jumbled. He needed someone else to step in at the moment, as much as he hated, despised, the thought, and his skull wouldn't do. Someone who could talk, help, that's what he needed.

Looking up, he found that he was already at Baker Street, his occupying thoughts allowing his legs to carry him there. Letting himself in, he climbed the stairs, going passed the door that led into their flat and going up to John's room. He lay face down on his bed, breathing in the scent he'd only dreamed of the past couple of months. Taking a deep breath, he slowly started to calm, moving his thoughts away from Moriarty, from the kidnapping. He began to think about when they were back, when they were safe and together at last.

Slowly his body started to relax, his mind clearing as his breathing slowed from its rapid pace to one more normal. First, he needed to find someone to help, someone smart, who would be quick to help him. Instantly, he thought of Molly, knowing that choice might just be best. She already knew he was alive; therefore she would be able to act quickly.

Pulling out his phone lethargically, he dialed Molly's number and placed the phone to his ear, sinking further into John's bed, his smell. It took very few rings for her to answer.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly muffled

"It's me."

Her breath caught for a second before she breathed out, "Sherlock?"

"I need you."

O_o

Sherlock practically ran to the door when he heard the knock on the door of 221B Baker Street. Almost tripping down the stairs on the way down from John's room, he threw it open, a feeling of relief washing over him at the sight of one person who might be useful.

"Molly." he greeted.

"What is it? What's wrong? Why are you back so early?" she asked, instantly worried.

"They took John and..." he trailed off, not sure what to tell her or how much.

"Who?"

"Moriarty and his men."

"H-he's still alive?" she asked, shocked, letting herself in.

"If I can fake my own death, I'm sure he can as well. I need your help, please!" he begged, following her up the stairs and into the flat.

Looking back at him she scowled slightly, "Whose shirt is that?"

"Whose-? John's. I need-"

"Why are you wearing John's shirt?" she asked, jealousy lacing her voice.

He clenched the material slightly, breathing in John's scent, "I-I, can we talk about getting about him back?!"

"I was on a date." she spat.

He looked her up and down, noting the clothes and make-up, "I-sorry, but, please, I need your help."

"To find your friend?"

"Boy-best friend, yes." he amended, figuring it wasn't best to tell her that they were dating - or whatever they were - when she obviously still had lingering feeling for him.

"What is it that I can do? Why do need _me_?" she asked suspiciously.

""You're the only one who understands why I did it, who is even remotely competent to helping me find them-him. Please, will you?"

"Fine, what-" she started, being interrupted by Sherlock's phone going off.

Instantly, Sherlock jumped, grabbing his phone and answering it with shaking hands.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, I have something for you, something interesting you might want to come check out. I hear you're back."

"I really can't not-"

"I found footage of this guy being pulled onto the train by two thugs, another coming up behind them, but he was too late."

"I-"

"But that isn't the most interesting part." he said, getting excited, "I got footage of their next stop, the last one, they weren't there, no one got out of the car."

"Can we come over and check out the video?" he asked instantly, knowing that it was John. If they had video, they could find him.

"We?"

"Not important, I need to see that video."

"I knew you would be interested." he hung up.

Sherlock put his phone back, grabbing his coat and scarf quickly and yanking them on, running out the door without checking if Molly was even following. Dashing out into the street, he hailed a cab, jumping inside and impatiently waiting for the girl to follow, excitedly shouting the address to the driver. The man sped away at Sherlock's demand, arriving at the house in a few minutes. Pushing his way out, they found themselves outside a door, Sherlock knocking frantically.

"Okay, okay!" they heard a voice call, the locks on the door moving around, "I'm coming, have a little patience!"

The door opened to reveal a short, stout man in a white, grey, and black beanie, two puff balls hanging from the end and one sitting on top. He smiled when he saw who it was, standing aside as Sherlock pushed his way inside of the train infested house. Trains, as well as train decorations, lined the walls and floor and almost every surface except for one where a mess of papers and a computer sat.

"He must really like-"

"Show me the video, now." Sherlock demanded, interrupting Molly before she finished, earning himself and unnoticed glare.

"In a rush, are we? And wasn't it just a second ago that you were telling me you didn't want to have this case." he joked.

"Just show me the video, now."

"Okay, okay." he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, going to the computer and messing with the controls, pulling up a security video. "Found this last night, while watching the security tapes. Here you can see the guy being pulled in, hood over his head, two big men holding him, and as soon as they get on, another guy comes appearing on the screen, just missing them. I watched the next stop for them, the last and only one, and they were gone. Didn't get off and they weren't on the train."

"What about turn offs, short cuts?"

"It's an older tunnel, they don't have any, just the one way stop except for one other tunnel, which was never finished and the train was never programmed to be there. The tracking device placed in the front indicates that it didn't go anywhere except for the two stops."

Sherlock sighed, "Okay, can you send me the video, please, and any other information you get?"

"Yeah, let me burn it onto a disk for you right now."

"Thank you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, Sherlock belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and Arthur Conan Doyle.**

_**Chapter 10**_

John blinked his eyes open, squinting at the harsh light that flooded his senses making him want to close his eyes again. After a few moments they adjusted and he began to look around, feeling the ropes and tape binding him to his stop. Looking towards the corner he saw one of his captors sitting there, a roll of duct tape in his hand.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

"Oh look," came a familiar voice, "Johnny Boy here is awake!"

"Moriarty." John growled, fighting against his restraints.

"Ah ah ah, that won't do. Now just keep still."

"Why should I listen to a damn word you say?" John growled. "You took everything from me, every damn thing, and now you want to come back and play more games? Count me out!"

"Aw, but Sherlock gets to be back now. See, I also gave everything back."

"It's too late! Nothing will be the same, not ever!"

"Such harsh words for someone who doesn't even know the reason behind their lover's faked death. You might want to keep quiet, though, Sherlock's sleeping baby is right in the corner."

John looked over, eyes widening at the sight of the small child sleeping in a car seat just a few feet away. Opening his mouth to demand another answer, he felt the duct tape being slapped over it, glaring and fighting against the other man. He just smiled at John's futile struggle, moving back and exiting the car, door sliding closed behind him.

Eyes roaming back over to the small child, John couldn't help but feel pain and sadness well in his chest. How could Sherlock? How could he? While John was grieving, trying his damndest to move on, Sherlock had been knocking up some woman?

Closing his eyes, he fought back tears and the overwhelming emotion of betrayal trying to breathe slowly and think the situation through. Moving his hands slower, he began working the knots, beginning to feel some slight give, concentrating all his effort into that to keep out the emotion.

Suddenly he was broken from his thoughts when the car door slid open and he watched a tall, lanky figure make their way in.

O_o

"I need you to go over this video, tell me if I missed something, then we need to go back to the station, talk to security, anyone who might have access to more information. I'm going to reconnect with my homeless network, have them keep an eye out for anything or anyone suspicious." Sherlock said when they were back at the flat, taking his laptop out and shoving in the video.

"What makes you think I will be able to notice anything you don't?" she asked hotly.

"I just need a second opinions, John's were always helpful." he said, moving to go outside.

"Oh, and should I take notes like John? Dress and act like him as well?" she asked sarcastically.

"Just this, thanks." he said, going down the stairs.

When he got back, he quickly pulled her away from the screen, dragging her back outside to head to the station. The cab ride was mostly quiet after Sherlock questioned her and she gave short, clipped answers. They arrived at the station slower than Sherlock was happy with, deciding any time that he wasn't doing anything to get Hamish and John back was an absolute waste.

Pulling up to the station, the first thing Sherlock was greeted with were police cars and detectives surrounding around the area. He growled when he saw Lestrade speaking to Donavan, knowing they were investigating the kidnapping, but that meant he wouldn't be able to get in. As easily.

Molly opened the door, beginning to get out, but Sherlock's hand shot out, shutting it before she could get her foot through the door.

"What's wrong?" she asked in confusion.

"Not on the best terms with the police at the moment."

"So?"

"Lestrade will know what I'm doing, he's not that stupid, and he cut me from the case. He won't let me in."

"If he cut you off, then why are you still here?"

He turned to look at her, "I need to find the-him."

"And you can't leave it to them? They would find him, they aren't that incompetent." she argued.

"I have a deadline, and they can't find him, I have to, and fast. I only have four days left."

"Fine, what do you need me to do?" she asked reluctantly.

O_o

"Inspector, what's going on?"

Lestrade turned, surprise taking over his features slightly, "Molly, what is it that you're doing here?"

"I need to get on the tube, I'm meeting a friend and I don't have the money for a cab. Is something wrong?" she asked, worry in her voice.

"Nothing too serious, just investigating a kidnapping."

"So is no one allowed in?"

"No, no, go ahead." he said, realizing that they were blocking the way and no one was entering. "We just plan on checking tapes and talking to the security guards who were on duty last night in further detail."

"Thank you, but may I suggest that you move, everyone seems to think that you are closing down the station and they are missing their trains."

"Not a problem, and will do. I didn't realize."

She smiled, "How long are you going to be, do you think?"

"Maybe two, three hours. I don't think we can track down all the witnesses, but we'll try from the footage."

"Okay, Inspector, I'll see you around. Is anyone else down there at the moment?"

"I think a few men are, but I haven't given any orders yet."

"See you, Greg, bye." she said, beginning to walk away, then turning back. "Oh! Crap, I forgot my phone on the cab." giving and exasperated and worried smile to Greg, she ran back, and towards the slowly moving vehicle. Raising her hand, she smiled as she crawled back in, shutting the door.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked.

"I got them to move because they are blocking people's way, which will be your chance. Only a few officers are down there and they have no orders as of now, you can easily sneak past them. They plan on watching the video and talking and gathering witnesses."

"Okay, get out, I'll follow after, you will bring back his attention since he just saw you."

"Alright." she nodded.

"Then come back to Baker Street in thirty minutes. I estimate I will have fifteen minutes while they watch the videos to talk to the other security officers that didn't, erm, drag me off. Now go!"

She exited the cab, smiling to Greg and raising her phone as his eyes automatically searched her out just as Sherlock had said. He smiled back, turning and ordering everyone to condense themselves to a smaller area so people could get through.

As his back was turned, Sherlock slipped out, walking quickly to the entrance with his head lowered to block his face. When he made it in, he surveyed the area, noting the Scotland Yarders and the security officers. He was thankful that he didn't see anyone he recognized, getting through the ticket booths without a problem.

"Sir, can I help you?" someone asked.

Sherlock turned, to see a security officer smiling at him, being unusually still as he stood quite far from the crowds in a post Sherlock knew didn't exist. His uniform was slightly off and he didn't have any signs that he was a security officer in any way that Sherlock had observed before.

"Where are they?" he snarled, taking a step towards the man.

He smiled, stepping back easily, "Do you need a map?"

"Where-?"

"Here." he said, shoving the paper towards him before running off and disappearing.

Opening the folded piece of parchment Sherlock noted that the track John had been taken on was highlighted. Studying it, he began to walk out, the man sticking in the back of his mind. Another one of Moriarty's workers.

His feet seemed to carry him with a mind of their own, carrying him through the station and out without being so much as noticed by a few of the Yarders. The thoughts running through his head were suddenly thrown to the back as his energy was suddenly concentrated on this one thing. Thousands of theories were running through his mind, slowly being turned away and accepted as possibilities moved around. He quickly noted an old turn off in the railway and instantly knew that something was there.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" called a voice.

Looking up, he saw Molly waving at him from across the street, watching as she looked both ways and crossed. Staring back at the map, he began to move once again when she reached the middle of the street. He didn't hear her angry growl as he continued forward, intent to reach Baker Street and re-watch that video until the Yarders cleared out of the station. Something was bugging him, something in the back of his mind and he knew that the answer lay in the video, he knew.

Reaching the door, he instantly threw it open, dashing frantically up the stairs and grabbing his laptop firmly. Messing with the key board, he brought it up and sat on the couch, nose an inch from the monitor. Molly came in a few minutes later, chest heaving, evidence that she had ran after him.

"Sherlock...why didn't you...wait?" she gasped out.

Not hearing her, he continued to stare at the screen, replaying the short video over and over, eyes scanning for something, anything.

"Sherlock!"

"The cars!" he gasped, replaying it again, "Oh, I see it now, I hadn't noticed."

"What?!" she snapped, "What is it?"

"There's one less car! It left with seven and arrived with six!" he exclaimed, jumping up and making his way to the door for the millionth time.

"Where are you going?"

"The station!"

"We were just there. Sherlock, calm down, you need to take a breath and take your time. You've been running around all day, let's just take a breath. Stop for a minute." she said.

"But-"

"I don't care, the best way to find John is to make sure you do it right, and people tend to think best after a break. Come on." she tried to persuade.

"Molly, look, I need to go, now, and find them. I can't take a break, I'm being timed, remember?"

"You know what, Sherlock, I've done nothing but help you since you jumped, and not only did you disappear on me, but now you won't even acknowledge me!"

"What are you-"

"I love you, and you know it. God, you've always known, but it hasn't made a difference. I need to know how you feel about me. No, scratch that, I need you to love me as well. I can't keep doing this!"

"Molly-"

"Just-I'm leaving now. Go, find John and when you have a free mind, think about what I said Sherlock." with that, she left.

Sherlock stood there in shock, unsure of what he should do. Taking a deep breath and pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he followed her out the door and turned towards the station. Running to the nearest opening, he went underground and bought a ticket for where he knew the closest entrance to the tunnel would be.

The tube ride was short, but it felt as if it took forever in Sherlock's mind, wishing that it would go just a little faster. The stops almost killed him, feeling it slow and watching more people crowd around him, making him feel claustrophobic. When his stop finally came, he pushed people out of the way in his hurry to reach the doors, getting quite a few angry looks and shouts.

As he ran through the station, he looked left and right for the entrance, unsure of where it would be or what it would look like. After going around in circles a few times, he finally got a break, coming upon a black gate with a _Keep Out_ sign plastered on it. Glancing both ways, he shimmied the lock undone and swept the gate open, sneaking inside. Farther down it began to get dark and damp, the walls turning less friendly and lit. Sherlock took out his phone, lighting the flashlight up and making his way farther down.

Coming out of the staircase, he walked towards the old tube track, looking down at the rusted metal. Hopping on, making sure to mind the track, he began to walk one way, figuring the other led to the main railway. Every few feet there was an old lamp hanging dismally, providing some light that shone on the crumbling, rusting walls. The tracks were old and broken in some places, not enough to cause one trolley too much trouble, but over time it would have needed to be repaired.

Going over the corner, Sherlock spotted the car, a small smile gracing his face, knowing he was now one step closer to them. His Hamish and John. Sherlock's feet began to carry him faster as he got closer, wondering what, or who, awaited him inside.

The car was dark, no lights emitting from the windows providing Sherlock with little to deduce about the situation. As he got closer, his heart sped up along with his feet, his ears playing tricks on him as he began to hear rustling and other noises.

Finally reaching the car, he pulled the door open, squinting as light flooded from the compartment, the door having triggered the lights. Blinking, he looked around, climbing on board, eyes automatically going towards the figures in the car. Taking and unsteady step towards the people, he gasped in recognition, running towards them. Before he could reach them, though, a voice came on the speakers.

"I see you've finally found them."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.**

_**Chapter 11**_

Sherlock's breath came out in gasps as he staggered towards the two people he'd been looking for for days. John sat on the floor, arms tied behind him; legs tied in front, a piece of duct tape covering his mouth. Hamish lay in a car seat in the seat next to John, his arms waving as he gurgled quietly, not understanding what was going on.

"Ah, yes, you don't even understand, do you, Sherlock? You're wondering why they are here and why it is so easy, so in reach, for you to take them. Two words, darling: Look. Closer." Moriarty's voice resounded around the car.

Tearing his eyes from the two people most precious to him, he looked around the car, trying to figure out the game, the puzzle. After a few seconds, he spotted wiring lining the walls of the car going into all the seats. Taking another step forward, he tore off a cushion, eyes widening as he looked under, finding himself lost as for what to do.

"There we go, Sherlock. Now, before I continue, explain what you don't know, I'll let you talk to your pet. Touch anything besides the duct tape, and that includes little Hamish, and I blow everything up. You, Johnny boy, and your baby." then the voice cut off, leaving Sherlock with wide eyes and sweating palms.

Shaking hands reached for the tape around John's mouth slowly, every particle fearful - for the first time - of making one wrong move. Peeling off the tape, he crouched down, looking John in the eyes, watching him search his own.

"John." he croaked brokenly.

"Sherlock, I-" John cut himself off, searching Sherlock's own eyes once again, a hurt look on his face.

"It's not-" he began, cutting himself off as well as he heard Hamish.

The baby cooed and gurgled, small hands waving in the air as he lost himself in his own little world. It was both a relief and a horror to see his child again, seeing him in this situation, the one thing, one person he wanted to keep Hamish away from ended up being the one who put them all here. The two people he wanted to protect he put them in danger, he knew they were there because of him.

"He's ours, mine." Sherlock whispered, still looking at the tiny hands. "I-I had him. I apparently have a condition, one that allows males to get pregnant. I have it, he's mine. Yours."

"Sherlock, I don't-"

"I never cheated." he exclaimed, looking back at John, "I jumped to protect you both, pretended to jump. He threatened to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, and told me the only way to stop them, to save you, was for them - the marksmen - to watch me jump. So I did, faked it with the help of Mycroft and my homeless network."

"Sherlock-"

"Please, I-I'm telling the truth. It's a weird and hard to believe truth, but truth all the same." he begged.

John stared at him, searching his eyes once again before looking over at Hamish, eyes following the small fists as well.

"It just-it seems so unlikely." he breathed.

"I know." Sherlock said, "I know."

"You're telling the truth?"

"Yes, I promise." he said softly.

John's eyes slid back from Hamish, meeting Sherlock's own, "Then I believe you."

"I-"

"Well, I guess that's enough time, confessions, truths. And he is telling the truth Johnny boy, I had someone watching him despite his brother's attempts. I have pictures, if you want to see."

Sherlock squinted as another bright light shot him in the eyes, looking the other way to get it out. In the other direction, projected onto the wall were pictures of him in his flat from what seemed like another building. He watched as the photographs flashed by slow enough to see, watching as time wore on his own stomach grow rounder and rounder, the last few of his flat stomach, but with Hamish in his arms.

"There, proof." Moriarty said, glee evident in his voice as the projector turned off.

Turning back, Sherlock saw tears going down John's face, a sad look overcoming is features. Opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, he was once again interrupted by the voice over the speakers.

"Nope, no, no, no. Talking time is over, my dear Sherlock. I gave you enough time already; now, I believe it is time for you to know the game." It was silent for a few seconds after, as if waiting for some dramatic reaction, continuing a few minutes later. "Okay, well, as you should know by now, the train is lined with wires that lead to bombs, one in every seat. There is a timer, one that will start as soon as I finish talking, for two minutes, just about enough time for you to get away. Ah, but here's the catch. You can only take one of them with you-"

"No!" Sherlock cried, jumping up.

"Oh yes, you get to pick one to take with you, not both, and you can't sacrifice yourself, I've already tried that once. I'll be watching, so I'll know if you break any rules. I say it takes a minute and a half to get safely away. So you have thirty seconds to choose. Good luck!" and the voice went off.

"Sherlock, grab him and go, now." John demanded, a determined look plastered on his face.

"John-"

"We don't have time to talk about this, get him out. You know there is no choice here, you have to save him."

Sherlock ran over to the carrier, unbuckling Hamish and scooping him into his arms, tears streaming down his face. Leaning down, he kissed John, pulling back and running towards the trolley door.

"I love you." he said, turning to look one last time.

"I love you too, Sherlock. I always have, now go." John said, tears going down his own face.

"His name is Hamish." Sherlock replied, before jumping out and running from the car as fast as he could.

Without looking back, because he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to leave John, he began to dash down the tunnel. In his head he was counting down, not sure if he could bear what would happen when it got to zero. He'd always thought that one day they would be reunited and could be a real family together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd hoped John would never move on and would welcome them back with open, loving arms. They wouldn't get that chance now, the chance to be together again, to be a real family with their son.

That thought was almost too much for Sherlock to bear as he continued to run, his heart truly being torn. It was exactly what Moriarty wanted, Sherlock having to make such a choice, he knew what it would do to the detective. The decision would utterly destroy him as soon as the clock reached zero, as soon as there was absolutely no more time left.

Breathing hard, he reached the end of the tunnel, looking back and wondering how much time he had left. How much time John had left. He tried to access the part of his mind that had been counting down, but it was too fogged. Placing Hamish safely behind the wall he tucked the blanket tightly around his small body, giving him a sad smile.

"I'll try to be back as soon as possible, my little Hamish. I'm just going to get your father so that we can all be together, like it should be." he choked out, tucking a small blonde strand behind one of his little ears. "I love you."

With that he left, running back to the car, hoping and praying to anything that he could make it in time, that they both could.

Suddenly a flash of blinding white light and a loud, thunderous boom echoed through the tunnels, shaking the walls. A small baby in the corner cried, the loud noise hurting his innocent ears, but neither the heat nor light making it to him. Thunderous steps and loud voices came crashing from the stairs just a few minutes later, upsetting the child even more, making him wonder where his daddy was. Large, unfamiliar hands picked him up, rocking him back and forth, questioning voices repeating around him, more running.

"Where are your parents, Hamish?" the voice asked sadly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC.**

_**Chapter 12**_

There was a ringing in his ears, there was rubble beneath him, there were specks of light shining above him, a heavy weight on top of him.

Sherlock blinked his eyes open, realizing he couldn't sit up and that it was hard for him to breath. Looking down, he saw a lump on him, and just like everything else, it was covered in the dust and debris from the collapsing tunnel. Hearing footsteps and voices, he looked to his side, for a second wondering who it was before he figured it out.

The thing on top of him moved, making him stop moving - and breathing - himself as it groaned and wormed its way off of him. It staggered upward, standing on two feet and stretching out slightly before bending down, revealing its face.

Sherlock gasped.

"John!" he cried as he threw himself upwards towards the awaiting figure.

Large arms wrapped around his waist as his wrapped around John's neck, for a moment not even wondering how he'd gotten out. Pulling away, he pulled him up for a kiss, feeling John's arms tighten around his waist. Neither pulled away despite the voices growing louder until they were right next to them.

"Oi!" came a shout from one of the Yarders, making the couple pull away from one another.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, instantly beginning to check John for any injury that he could see or deduce. Seeing none, he looked back into John's eyes, his own tearing up as he pulled him into fierce hug. "I thought I was going to lose you!"

John wrapped his arms around the smaller man's back, hugging him just as tightly, "I lost you once, do you think I'm going to let you go through that same exact Hell?"

"How-?"

"It's a long story," he whispered, "why don't we wait until we're back home, back in 221B."

"Found this little guy placed perfectly away from the blast. I do believe he belongs to you two, correct?" came Mycroft's voice.

"Hamish!" Sherlock cried, reluctantly pulling back from John to grasp the small child he'd thought he may never get to see again safely in his arms.

"How is he?" John asked as he made to take a step towards them, but stopped as a pain shot up his leg and back, holding back a wince.

"Perfect, absolutely perfect." Sherlock said with soft eyes, making his way back to the father. "I'm assuming you checked him thoroughly, My, before giving him back."

"Of course," Mycroft said, "It seems that human sentiments are slightly easier to understand, at least when it comes to him. He is a very beautiful child."

"Thank you." John said, looking away from Hamish and up into Mycroft's eyes.

"For what?" Sherlock asked, looking up as well and shifting his gaze from one to the other.

"It was the least I could do. I have to make up for my previous mistake with my brother." Mycroft explained and John nodded.

"What did you do?" Sherlock asked.

"That's not important right now, brother dear, I do believe John is in need of medical attention." he nodded.

"I'm fine-"

"Fine my arse!" came Greg's voice. Sherlock looked up to see him stepping over rubble from behind John, coming closer to them. "Look at your back, Jesus, that must hurt!"

"I said that I was fine. It's just a flesh wound, I just want to go home." John said exasperatedly.

"Mate, I'm not even sure if you can walk back up to the ambulance, much less a taxi and then your house."

Sherlock instantly moved to look behind John, shifting Hamish slightly in his arms as he did so. As his eyes found the problem, he gasped in horror, wondering how he hadn't noticed earlier. John's back was absolutely torn up, the shirt hanging off in bits with some of his skin, burnt and raw flesh covering the majority of it.

"John!" Sherlock breathed, reaching out a hand but thinking better of it.

"Come on, Sherlock, you've seen worse." John grunted as he shifted slightly.

"Yes, on dead bodies." Sherlock snapped, turning to Lestrade, "Get him to the hospital and get him fixed."

"Sherlock, it's not that-"

"Don't even finish that sentence, John. I want that fixed and I want it done now, I mean, look at you! I can see the pain written all over your face, don't pretend you're not hurt."

"Sherlock, I just got you back, and I just figured out that I have a son. I don't want to be away from you, especially not right now." he argued.

Sherlock's eyes softened as he shifted Hamish once again, "As do I, but I hate seeing you hurt, John. It's the one thing that I can't stand. Now please, for me, go get better. We'll walk you up and come visit you when you're awake, they'll probably want to put you under for something that bad."

John was quiet for a second before he begrudgingly nodded and took a shaking step forward with his bad leg. Quickly, he limped onto the other one, letting out a breath of pain as he jostled both his back and his leg. Hearing fast footsteps, he paused, waiting until Greg reappeared besides him, offering his shoulder as support. He grunted once again as he moved to put his arm around the other man's shoulder, feeling Sherlock come up on his other side, sensing his worried look.

Taking a deep breath, he took another step, and slowly, very slowly, they began to make the harsh trek forward. After a while, the limp and pain in his leg faded slightly, the adrenaline in his body wearing thin and making the pain in his back increase. They were all thankful when Greg pulled out his radio when they neared the exit, getting back his signal and calling for the paramedics.

"I'm going to go up there." he pointed to the staircase, "Give you two sometime alone before you have to separate."

Sherlock nodded in thanks to him as he lifted himself from the tracks and towards the opening of what would have been the station. They watched as he walked away, waiting until he was out of earshot before turning back to one another.

"I missed you, so, so much." Sherlock said. "Every day that I was gone I thought of you, dreamt of you. And-and when Hamish was born it was hard to not feel depressed because you were missing and all I wanted to do was come back to you. I would have, I swear, but-but Moriarty, he made me, forced me to make a deal with him. If-if I didn't pretend to jump h-he would have m-murdered-"

"Shh, it's alright, Sherlock, calm down, it's okay." John interrupted.

"But-"

"You don't need to be going into a panic right now, just breath for me, okay? Can you do that?" he asked, going into doctor mode.

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath in through his mouth and letting it out through his nose. Hamish giggled in his arms as he felt his daddy's breath on in, tickling his sensitive skin.

"He's precious." John whispered, looking down at the small bundle in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock nodded, taking his eyes off of John and looking down at their son, "He'll grow up to look exactly like you and have your heart and your personality. He'll want to be a doctor."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, my dear John, but I do, in my heart, I know he'll follow in your footsteps, he'll learn your kindness and your personality."

John hummed, "You know, if we wait a few years, he could be the ring bearer at our wedding."

Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John, the other already staring at him with a small smile playing over his features.

"W-wedding?" Sherlock gasped.

John opened his mouth to reply, but they soon heard talking and echoes of footsteps ending their private conversation. A group of four paramedics with a gurney came in, following Lestrade's path towards the injured man. They hopped down and surrounded John, Sherlock being pushed out of the way as they ordered John to lay on the folded bed face down.

As Sherlock went to go with them as they climbed the stairs, he was stopped, one of the guys ushering the rest ahead.

"And are you his emergency contact?"

"I-I, erm..." he trailed off, knowing he used to be, but dead men couldn't be used as emergency contacts.

"I am." came Lestrade's voice. He came up and placed himself besides Sherlock, folding his arms. "Do you need me for anything?"

"No, just that you're the only one allowed to ride with him in the ambulance, if you wish, and that you're the one we'll call when he's out of surgery." he answered, moving back up.

"S-surgery?"

"Yeah, for his back." was his only answer before the man sped off to join his colleagues.

Lestrade put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "Hey, I'll call you as soon as I'm notified that he's out of surgery. I won't be able to go anyway, have to do reports, all that."

Sherlock nodded, not wanting to wait for news but knowing he had no other choice at the moment.

"Do you want a ride home?" he asked. "I know you don't usually do cop cars, but I'm sure it's better than a taxi, especially with such a precious load on you. Plus, it's free."

He looked at Greg then back down at Hamish, "Ah, y-yes. Thank you."

They continued the rest of the way up in silence, making their way to the car without anyone making note of a not so dead Sherlock Holmes. As Lestrade opened the door for Sherlock, he stopped him briefly from getting in.

"I'm sorry, for what I said when you first got back and for the way I treated you. I was in the wrong."

Sherlock nodded, knowing it might take a little while for him to get his complete trust back in Lestrade.

"And, well, he's beautiful." he nodded towards Hamish, moving out of the way.

Sherlock smiled, slipping into the seat, holding their baby slightly tighter.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC and the creators of Sherlock.**

_**Chapter 13**_

_Three Days Later_

"Mrs. Hudson?!" Sherlock called, searching frantically through the cupboards. "Mrs. Hudson!"

He was freaking out slightly, unable to find Hamish's formula and had torn the flat practically apart. Sherlock wasn't a big fan of having his son drink something so unnatural at such a young age, but Moriarty had to have had fed him something like that since his son still had to eat. Ever since he'd gotten him back, Sherlock hadn't tried to feed him naturally, not sure of his son's reaction, but he was beginning to think that he really had no other choice.

He rushed down the stairs, hearing Hamish's happy gurgling noises begin to turn to something more upset. Knocking politely on the woman's door, he got no answer, looking it over only to deduce that she had gone out. Groaning in displeasure, he went back upstairs and picked Hamish up off the blanket he'd laid him out on so the baby could lay there and play with his toys.

Sighing, he sat down on the couch and watched as Hamish's lips formed into their suckling position, indicating his hunger. Shrugging off part of his bath robe, he lifted the small child and waited to see if he would accept the natural, healthier milk. After the baby latched on and continued to drink for a few seconds, he began to relax, relief filling him as he leaned back and watching the child's face.

Hamish was so soft, so innocent, so unlike Sherlock, and he couldn't help but want to keep that and never show his son the world's horrors. His face relaxing as he stared down at his son and thought of everything he wanted to do for him to keep him from turning into something like Sherlock.

Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched, someone standing in his doorway looking over the intimate scene in front of them. A soft smile played over their lips as Sherlock began to hum, the soft light of the lamp cascading over his face and softening his own features. His eyes looking down at the small child made him look as if he was asleep, his face more peaceful than they'd ever seen before.

"You're a great dad." they said, walking forwards.

Sherlock's head snapped up, arms automatically tightening around Hamish, ready to protect the child from any harm. Gasping, he resisted the urge to stand up and go to them, knowing he had to stay and let his child eat.

"John!" he gasped. "You're supposed to be in the hospital until the next day."

"I left early." he admitted, walking forward.

"You should still be-"

"Would you have stayed?" John interrupted, raising his brow in question, already knowing the answer. "Please, Sherlock, you would have left that place as soon as you woke up."

"I-I would not have." he argued, knowing it was a lie.

John rolled his eyes, moving forward again, "Plus, I missed you."

"We visited you all day yesterday."

"Mm," he hummed, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's lips, smiling as he pulled away, "it wasn't enough."

"John-"

"I haven't seen you for nine months, Sherlock, I thought you were dead, and now I know you're not. You being alive is the greatest miracle in the world and you've also come back with one of the greatest possible gifts a person could give. Please don't tell me that I can't be a full part of this family until the day after tomorrow, please." he finished, tears shining in his eyes.

Sherlock leaned his head farther into the hand caressing his cheek, nuzzling it slightly before looking up into the older man's eyes.

"I want you to be a part of our family now, too, but I'm afraid of you still being hurt."

John smiled, running his thumb over the jutting bone, "I feel fine, a lot better. We'll just not mess with the bandages. They can't do anything more for me there than if I were here. Now, scooch up just a little."

Sherlock gave him a confused look as John pulled back, but did as he said anyway, moving so that he was sitting straight, in the middle of the couch, rather than on the back. Watching as John sat beside him, then slowly wriggled himself until he had one leg on each side of Sherlock, leaning on the back of the couch. With both hands, he pulled the smaller man against his chest, wrapping his arms around his stomach and resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder, looking down at Hamish.

"Lean your full weight against me, Sherlock, it'll hardly hurt, you've always been light." John said, "I'm fine, love."

Slowly, Sherlock leaned back until he was fully rested on John, their heads leaning against each other as they watched Hamish peacefully.

"It's beautiful." John murmured.

Sherlock blushed, his face growing hot, "It's embarrassing, you watching me. How-how do women do this in public? And them being shirtless isn't even socially acceptable."

John smiled, and kissed Sherlock's temple, "It's amazing how your body has adapted itself so nicely to be able to care and nurture for a child both inside and outside of you."

His blush deepened, "Are you telling me that the science of my body is beautiful?"

"In every way."

"Don't talk science to me." Sherlock whispered, feeling Hamish finally unlatch himself, and watched as he yawned and snuggled into his father, feeling warm, sated, and happy. Delicately, John pulled up Sherlock's robe, once again covering the man.

"I love him." John whispered, sounding slightly choked up.

Sherlock yawned as well, feeling his eyes drooping slightly, "As do I, and he loves us. Hold him."

"What? No, wait, I-I-" he tried, but Sherlock was already moving, settling Hamish in the arms that were already around him, leaning back and stroking the baby's hair as he rested in John's arms.

"It's not so hard, see? You're his father; you have the innate ability to care for him." Sherlock sighed, feeling droopy.

John watched in awed silence as both Sherlock and Hamish fell asleep in his arms, staring in wonder at the two before him. He was so entranced that he didn't hear the front door open and close, and footsteps coming up the steps.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson whispered to the person next to her, "It seems now is not the best time for conversation. Maybe you should come back later."

The girl nodded, trying to get a better look at the inside of the flat, but was blocked by Mrs. Hudson's body. She smiled at her, turning and slowly shutting the door quietly so as not to disturb the people inside.

"I'll stop by when I'm free next. I believe I will be busy with work for the next week or so." she admitted unhappily, turning to leave.

"Well, I'm sure he'll be happy you came and visited." Mrs. Hudson tried to reassure before showing her out and going back to her own flat.

O_o

John and Sherlock woke to the sound of Hamish's cries at around three in the morning, which were both tiresome and reassuring for Sherlock. Moving to get up, he felt John slowly push him back down.

"I'll get him this time." he murmured in Sherlock's ear, kissing him on the cheek.

"But you have to sleep, you go back to work tomorrow." he argued unconvincingly as he snuggled back into his pillow.

"Don't worry about it." John whispered. "You've been getting him every night since we got back. I can handle it."

It had been two weeks since John had been reunited with the love of his life and the child he didn't know they would have. His back had healed nicely, according to the doctor Sherlock had made him visit after having spent three whole days with only them, Sherlock never leaving his sight.

John pulled on some pants and headed towards his old room, making the small trek and thinking that they needed to find something with a closer space. He wondered where they would live if they moved, but dismissed the idea immediately. 221B was their home, and was now going to be a home for Hamish as well. Sherlock could never leave London and they would miss Mrs. Hudson and her them, and cases would be sparse as well as a job for John. Despite the room being farther away from them - and it had taken a while for him to convince Sherlock to let Hamish sleep that far away from him - he felt this place fit them, their family.

"Hey." John whispered, leaning over the edge of the crib and picking up the whining child. "What are you crying for at this ungodly hour?"

Sitting down in the small rocking chair next to the crib, he rocked Hamish back and forth, humming a tune he remembered his mother used to sing to him. Slowly Hamish quieted, but his big, bright blue eyes didn't close.

"It's late, you should sleep." John yawned, knowing he couldn't convince a baby to sleep. Sighing, he looked tiredly down at his son, "How about I tell you a story? One day, about two years ago, I met the most insane person in the world. At the time I was in a bad way and was slowly giving up on life, unsure of what to do with myself anymore. After what might have been fate or destiny, despite what your dad says about it not existing, I ran into an old friend who brought me to this man. Now, this man was, and is to this day, the most beautiful human being I have ever met in body and in soul, despite what he sometimes pretends to be.

"Now, this man is a very special person in many ways, but the first thing I learned that was so special was his utter genius. I met him and one second later he knew everything he could about me and my life, just by looking at me." John let out a small laugh. "And despite his insanity, the moment he told me exactly how he knew what he did, I fell in love with him. At the time, this man was not prepared for more than anything but roommates, which was understandable. We worked on a case together, our first one, and I was amazed by everything, his endurance, his body, his mind.

"As months wore on and as our comradeship turned to that of friendship, I finally began to get to know him, and he finally let me tell him about myself without spouting off what I was going to say before I could say it. Next thing I knew, he was in love with me, but he didn't know how to show it, I don't even think he knew what the feeling was at the time. We danced around each other for months, waiting for the right time or the right move from the other. Finally, one night, we showed each other what we felt, learning that the other felt the same. That was the night you became a possibility, despite neither of us knowing. I love this man and I think I always will, and he's wrong when he puts himself down, or when others do the same because he is the most wonderful thing God has ever put on this earth. This man is your dad, and one day, when you're older, I'll ask him to marry me and we'll have a wedding and you'll play a big part. I'm hoping that afterwards, maybe we can give you a younger brother or sister so I can see your dad in all his beauty.

"And when you're older, much older, I'll retell this story and you'll remember my words, and you'll go out and look for the same kind of person your dad is. If you're lucky, you'll find them and then you will tell your kids about your own romance, hoping that they get just as lucky as you did." he fell silent, taking a deep breath and looking down. Smiling, he placed Hamish back in his crib, the sweet, innocent face of a sleeping child embedded in his mind.

Stretching slightly, he left the room, quietly making his way down to their room, once again thinking longingly of snuggling back up with Sherlock and falling asleep for just a few more hours. As he entered the room, he looked towards the bed, expecting to find his sleeping boyfriend sprawled in the middle. Instead, he saw Sherlock sitting up, tears streaming down his face and the baby monitor clasped tightly in his hands.

John felt his face redden slightly, realizing that Sherlock had heard every word he'd said to Hamish through the device.

"Sherlock?" he asked, stepping forward so that his shins touched the edge of their bed.

The man in question snapped his head up, launching himself at John and wrapping his arms around the other's neck. Holding tightly, Sherlock dragged them down until he was laying on his back, John hovering on top of him. John thought he heard him mumble something, but was unsure, not being able to make out any specific words.

"What?" he whispered.

"You lied, to Hamish, how can I be any of that?" Sherlock asked, unlatching himself from John. "I'm a freak, a high functioning, sociopathic freak who is entertained by other people's deaths. I am selfish and rude and uncaring and definitely not beautiful or handsome."

"Oh, but you are." John whispered back, laying down and bringing Sherlock on top of him so that the man's head lay on his chest. "I never lie, you just don't seem to be able to see the truth when it comes to yourself."

"John, I know myself very well, better than you."

"I think I know you better than you know yourself." he said, running his fingers through Sherlock's soft, messy curls. "You have all these kind and caring qualities, wonderful characteristics that you hide and deny having to protect yourself. You pretend to be some uncaring, sociopathic human when really, you don't eat after any case with a child. Cases with sexual abuse, you lay in your room for three days in the dark. Any case, I watch you work your hardest to find the killer and I know that you're not doing this just for yourself, for your entertainment, but for them and their families. You may not believe it, but I know it to be true."

Sherlock's grip on him tightened, "I didn't realize any of that."

"That's because, even though you can see and pick up on every little detail about everyone else, you are very ignorant when it comes to yourself."

Sherlock was quiet for a few seconds before asking, "Why do you put up with me? Why do you love me?"

"Because if I ever had to live without you, I wouldn't survive. Not for very long. When you were gone, I was put on suicide watch and Greg refused to leave for one month straight because I couldn't take care of myself. After getting basic functions down, my limp, my nightmares, everything came back and didn't go away. I was surrounded by despair that wouldn't go away, would only become background if I was busy. People can't function like that, it would have only been a matter of time before the John Watson everybody knew would have been gone.

"As for love, well, how can I not? You are my everything, you take up all of my time, you fixed me, you hold me in this tight grip and won't let me go. I got to know you, the real you, and I just couldn't help but fall harder than I ever would with anyone else. I love you because you are like no one else, because you _are _beautiful in body and soul, because you are life itself to me."

Sherlock didn't say anything after that, holding John even tighter and letting himself be consumed by the feel and smell and presence of John.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC and the writers of the show.**

_**Chapter 14**_

Sherlock lay on his back on the floor, blanket underneath him, and a smile on his face that just wouldn't go away as John's words echoed in his head. Bringing Hamish down, he quickly pushed him up again, watching his son giggle at the action of being pushed into the air. Everything was perfect, so wonderfully perfect and he never knew he could be this happy. He was so happy that he even considered inviting his brother over to see Hamish, but quickly dismissed it since the man would probably be too busy eating cake and starting wars.

He smiled again as he pushed Hamish back into the air, making silly noises to entertain the child. Hamish's small body shook with his incessant giggles and his eyes shown bright as if knowing his daddy was in a good mood and was reflecting the feeling.

After a while, Sherlock turned over, placing his son on the blanket with the toys and going into the kitchen. As he drank some water, he heard a knock on the door, quickly moving to answer it.

"Hello." Molly greeted.

Sherlock was shocked for a few seconds before he recovered, "Hello."

"I came-can I come in? Please?"

"Erm, sure." he agreed, stepping aside to allow her in.

She went to the couch, sitting down and looking around, eyes finding Hamish on the floor and going wide. As Sherlock sat next to her, she tore her eyes from the giggling baby and looked at Sherlock, many questions running through her mind. The main one, what was his answer to her confession?

"Sherlock-" she began, getting cut off as he looked over to see Hamish had wriggled himself off the blanket slowly.

"Nope!" Sherlock said, sweeping over and picking him up. Hamish giggled, grabbing Sherlock's nose in his pudgy fist and squeezing it slightly.

Sherlock's eyes widened, "What do you have there?!"

Hamish laughed at the stuffy voice that came out of his daddy's mouth instead of his usual baritone voice. Sherlock smiled, turning and walking back to the couch, sitting down and placing Hamish on his thighs. Turning back to Molly, he began to jiggle his legs, bouncing Hamish up and down, filling the flat with even more giggles and small squeals of delight.

"Y-you're really good at that." she said, only too easily picturing that child being theirs. "Whose-whose is he?"

Sherlock looked up, remembering Molly's feelings for him and losing any words that he was going to previously say to her. He didn't know how to tell her, or even what to tell her, not that she would believe him. Who would?

"Oh, erm, well, um..." he stumbled, not able to think of anything he could say.

"Are you babysitting him for-for someone?" she asked, her nerves growing. She was trying to avoid what she was really here for, she was scared to hear the answer.

Sherlock sighed, he wouldn't lie, not about his child, "No. He's, erm, well he's mine." He heard her sharp breath, flinching slightly.

"You-yours? You what? So while-while we were all here mourning over your death and-and worrying about you, you were off having-having-"

"No! I did not do anything with another woman!" he defended. "I had him, I-I have a condition, okay? I got-got pregnant, and trust me, I know it sounds weird since I am a-a man, but I did. That's all I was doing while I was away, having him, and that's it, he's why I came back. Moriarty, he-he kidnapped him and I couldn't handle it by myself, I needed help."

She sat there quietly for a few seconds, wide eyes searching him, "Y-you're lying!" she exclaimed.

"I am not! I have pictures and tests to prove it. My brother and the special doctor he hired would back me up as well. I'm not lying."

"Then-then how did you...?" her eyes widened again in realization. "John."

Sherlock blushed, looking down at Hamish, "Yeah, we, erm, yeah. John is the fath-other father."

"You and John?" she asked disbelievingly. "I-I mean, there were always rumors, jokes going around, but I never believed that you two were shagging."

"We weren't!" Sherlock said angrily, not liking that there had been rumors about them at the Yard. She gave him a hard glare. "We weren't. We-we only did it once, not that it's any of your business, and then I j-jumped a week later."

"So you two shagged and now that you have a child you're staying together, then?" she demanded.

Sherlock's face, if possible, got redder, "No, we love each other."

"God!" she said, shaking her head. "You really are an idiot then if you think he isn't here for any other reason except for that child. He doesn't love you."

"Yes he does!" Sherlock yelled. "If-if you think that wasn't established way before we even did anything, then you're very wrong."

"Sherlock, he's a man, and he did what all men do, he lied to you, made you feel special and told you he loved you to get in your pants. The only reason why he has not left you yet is because now he is a father and has a responsibility to that child."

"He's not like that and you know it!" Sherlock said, looking down, tears having filled his eyes that he didn't want her to see.

Hamish had gone quiet, as if sensing the atmosphere. His smile had disappeared and he was looking up at Sherlock curiously. His dad's legs had stopped moving and he had gone stiff.

"Sherlock, look," her voice had gone soft, as if now trying to comfort him, show him she was there for him. "I know what it's like. I mean, not with a child, but with men, other men. He doesn't really love you. He never has and he never will. I'm sorry, but it's true."

"Get out." Sherlock whispered, still not looking up.

"Sherlock, please-" she said, leaning towards him.

"I think it's best if you do as he says." came a voice from the doorway.

"J-John!" Sherlock gasped, looking up instantly to see him standing there. "Wh-what are you doing home?" he asked, trying to wipe the tears from his face unnoticeably.

"Oh, Love." John said, walking over to the couch in long strides, kneeling down beside him and taking Hamish into his arms. He shot a glare at Molly, who hadn't gotten up and was still looking at him with an expression of shock. Quickly, she gathered her stuff and left, not bothering to look back. "Don't listen to her, I do love you, with all my heart, and not just because of Hamish or because of sleeping with you."

Sherlock nodded, looking up with a small smile, "I-I know John." he hiccupped. "It just-it hurt to hear."

John smiled, moving to sit next to him, kissing Sherlock on the cheek and resting his forehead against his temple, looking down at Hamish.

"I thought I'd come home for lunch today. Figured we could walk down to the small shop near work. They sell this organic chicken that is so good, not slimy like the kind you refuse to eat."

"That-that sounds nice." Sherlock smiled. "Just let me feed Hamish and get dressed and put him into more warm clothes - it's cold out today. Do you think we should get a stroller? Oh, but he might get bumped out of my hands, or taken by another one of Moriarty's goons. Maybe a baby holder, or-"

John laughed, "I'm sure he'll be fine just being carried, alright?"

Sherlock sighed, "I guess, but what about wipes and stuff? If we're going to a restaurant then we'll need a high chair for him, I can't eat while he's in my lap or arms, but they're covered in germs and his immune-"

John leaned over and captured Sherlock's lips in his own, bringing them into a long, sweet kiss. When they broke apart, Sherlock didn't recognize the soft look John was giving him, not having seen it before.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"You're a wonderful dad, Sherlock. It's-it's amazing to see you like this. You, worrying about him and loving and doting on him. I didn't think it was possible to fall in love with you more, but you never were possible, Sherlock, were you?"

"I-" John cut him off with another kiss, leaning more into it, a smile on his face.

Hamish giggled, waving his hands into the air, bringing their notice back to him, both parents smiling down at the small miracle they knew as their child.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC and the writers of Sherlock.**

_**Chapter 15**_

_Epilogue Part 1_

"Sherlock, come on, we're going to be late!" John called, leaning closer to the mirror to finish tying his tie.

Running out, he grabbed a one and a half year old Hamish from his high chair where he had been eating just a few minutes before. John smiled at his son, who smiled and grasped his shirt in his still small fists.

"Sorry, sorry." Sherlock said, coming out and readjusting his shirt. "You try and hide a pregnant belly."

John smiled, "It's not even that large, it's only been four and a half months."

"What happened to waiting until after the wedding to have another one?" Sherlock groaned, grabbing his coat and smiling as it hid what had just begun to show.

Shrugging, John threw a wicked smile Sherlock's way as he moved towards the door, "It was an accident!"

"Because you got too impatient!" Sherlock exclaimed, following John down the stairs.

"Hey, how am I supposed to be able to control myself like that around you? Now come one, let's drop Hamish off then go."

Sherlock paused, looking at his son, "Does he have to stay? You know how I don't like it when he is away from me."

John knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door, "I know, Love, but Mrs. Hudson has never failed us once before, she won't do it now."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but at that time Mrs. Hudson decided to open the door, smiling and exclaiming her hellos. Reaching out her arms, she took Hamish in a tight grip, beginning her regime of ushering the pair out of the door. After they were out, she rolled her eyes, smiling down at Hamish and beginning her talking, telling him all the things they were going to do while he just smiled up at her.

"Why do we even have to go?" Sherlock complained to John.

"Because, despite her old feelings for me, Mary and I are friends, and she wanted us at her wedding." John explained for the millionth time, raising his hand to hail a cab.

Stepping up next to John, Sherlock raised his hand as well, getting a cab instantly and shooting a smirk towards the other's way. John rubbed his hand over his face, getting in after Sherlock, feeling as if a headache might just be coming on.

Sherlock hummed, running his fingers over the small bump that John had grown to be obsessed with after having not seen him with Hamish. He leaned his head down so it rested on John's shoulder, feeling calm in the comfortable silence. John's arm came and wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

It took twenty minutes to get to the small chapel, having left the smog and city behind them. The church was white, windows decorating most of the outside, showing the interior, which had been filled with white tables and decorated with yellow flowers. Sherlock could almost picture this to be John's wedding, could almost see him and Mary standing together, smiles plastered on their faces as they said their vows and left Sherlock forever. He mentally cringed, smiling to John when the man threw him a questioning look.

"Wow, this place is gorgeous!" John said, admiring the more nature filled atmosphere.

"Mmm." Sherlock hummed, leading them inside.

The hall was filled with multiple people, chattering and laughing to one another, waiting to be seated. Sherlock sighed, looking down, already feeling the boredom creeping through and murdering his brain, tearing it up into tiny little bits.

"John-" he whined.

"Come on, Sherlock," John groaned, "I know, I know, this is dull, boring, but, please, don't be-be-"

"What?" Sherlock asked, raising a brow.

"You." John said.

"So don't be me? I think that's quite impossible, in order for me to do that-"

"Don't be rude, don't be mean, don't interrupt, and for the sake of everything that is holy, do not deduce people." Sherlock gave John a slightly horrified look. He sighed, "In front of them or in their hearing range and don't _tell_ other people what you've deduced about them."

"Can I tell you?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock." he chided, grabbing two waters and handing one to him. Taking a sip, he looked at his fiancé, "Only if it's really, really good."

Sherlock smiled, "See, you can't resist me."

"God help me." John muttered.

"If everyone could please be seated now!" came a voice.

Sherlock lined up behind John, looking up to see the woman who had been talking. Bridesmaid. She smiled and shook everyone's hand, paying slightly extra attention to the young men in the line. Looking for someone.

"I wouldn't waste your time with him." Sherlock said in a low voice as she finished speaking with John.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's gay and getting married soon, not really a good choice for a bed mate." he paused, looking around, "Like most other men here."

She looked at him, "And how do you know that?"

"Please, it's easy to deduce. The man behind me has recently come out of a long relationship, has an ex-wife. Wouldn't try for him either."

She looked impressed, "You'll be very helpful tonight..."

"Sherlock."

"Janine. Now, Sherlock, do I have to even show you to your seat?" she asked.

"No." he said, eyes finding John. "I know exactly where I need to be."

"As do I, so I will find you, and together we can hopefully find me something." she smiled.

Sherlock thought for a second, "That sounds fun." he agreed, figuring that would keep him entertained.

Going to him, Sherlock sat down, smiling to John, who was looking at him with suspicion written so obviously over his face. Sherlock ignored it, shifting in his seat until he deemed himself comfortable and looked back up at the altar.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Yes, John?"

"What exactly were you talking to the maid of honor about?"

He shrugged, "Not much, why?"

"Because you have that look."

"What look?"

"The look you get when something remotely entertaining comes up. What did you do?" John demanded.

"Nothing!" Sherlock groaned. "She is perfectly nice and I didn't say anything that would ruin that."

"Really, you're sure?"

"Yes, she told me she wanted me to help her after the reception."

"With what?" John asked, getting suspicious again.

"Just finding her a date, John, nothing more."

"And how did you convince her to have you help her with that."

"Just by deducing a few people." he muttered.

"And who, might I ask, did you deduce?"

"Just the guy behind me."

"And?"

"Well, I might have mentioned you."

"That's cheating!" John said.

"Is not! I never denied not knowing you." Sherlock defended.

John laughed, "Nuh uh, that's cheating, one hundred percent. You can't deduce someone you already know really well. Doesn't count."

"Fine, I deduced one guy for her."

"And what did you say about me to throw her off?"

"Just that you were gay and getting married."

"But I'm not gay."

"Half gay." Sherlock shrugged, making John laugh.

"And what did you tell her about yourself?"

"Nothing, why would I do that?"

"She is going to go after you. Actually, scratch that, she probably already is." John said.

"Why would she do that?"

"Because you're bloody gorgeous and you were nice to her. Women tend to like that combination, makes you look like a gentleman."

"I am a gentleman."

John snorted, "Sure."

Sherlock was quiet for a second, watching him, "You're not jealous?"

John looked at him, "No, why?"

"Well... Shouldn't you be?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"Well, usually, I might be, but," he said, leaning over and placing his hand over Sherlock's stomach, "this is mine, and," he moved his hand to where Sherlock's left hand sat, grasping it in his own, thumbing the ring, "this is mine." he finished, kissing Sherlock's hand and smiling at the now blushing man.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock looked up, seeing the wedding was about to start and composing himself. He saw John's smug smile from the corner of his eye and decided it was in everyone's best interest if he ignored it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC.**

** Hey guys, so, so, so sorry that this is late, plus it's the final chapter, so I'll have nothing else to give you to make up for it. **** Anyway, thank you all so much for reading this and leaving comments and liking the story, I appreciate it more than you could possibly understand. I have no new story up and ready for Sherlock, yet, still working on finishing the latest one, so I won't be posting for a while. I truly hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. See ya'll when the next story comes out!**

_**Chapter 16**_

The ceremony, in Sherlock's opinion, was long, dull, and boring, a time where he constantly wondered if he could get away with sneaking out. For John, it was long, but beautiful and worth every second, making him picture when he and Sherlock would be up there. Though, he did spend half the time watching Sherlock, making sure he hadn't snuck off.

They clapped when it was over, Sherlock smiling politely and John smiling happily. They were led to the next room, the large group talking excitedly, bustling about every which way. John found their table, pulling out Sherlock's seat for him and then sitting down himself.

"John!" Mary exclaimed when she saw them, parting with her new husband and walking over, sending smiling glances towards him as she made her way over.

"Mary! Congratulations!" he said, getting up to hug her, "The two of you look absolutely in love."

"We are." she said, slightly breathless, sending another glance his way.

"Something seems different about you." Sherlock blurted, eyes scanning over her.

"Sherlock!" John chided.

Mary laughed, "It's fine, John, don't worry about it. What is it, Sherlock?"

He looked over her for a minute before his eyes widened and he looked back down, "I-it's nothing, a mistake."

She gave him an odd look and smiled, "Is it that bad?"

"No, nothing bad. Really, a mistake."

She nodded, turning back to John, "How much did I bore him during the ceremony?"

John laughed, "Not too bad, he's still here."

She smiled, "Hopefully until the end, but feel free to leave any time. The important part is over."

"Oh, wait!" John said when she turned to leave. "I asked Sherlock to compose a song for the two of you. He brought it with him, if the band is willing to give up a violin and give him a short performance time, if you want to hear, he can play it for you."

"Really?" she asked, a wide smile covering her face. "Oh, please? We can do it for our first dance as husband and wife! Is that okay?"

Sherlock nodded, "Of course, is it okay with your husband?"

"Oh God!" she cried. "He's my husband now! I'm sorry, Sherlock, am I acting too normal and happy for you?" she laughed when she noticed his look of disdain at her squeal.

"It's fine." he assured.

"Okay, I'm going to go steal a violin for you, unless you want to?" she asked, giving him a wink.

"I'd lo-"

"No." John said. "Mary, you are a bad influence on him."

"Oh, John, just having a little fun. Now, I'll get the violin and after the speeches and all that, you'll play for our first dance. Oh, and could I trouble you for a copy of the music? I'd love to be sentimental and frame it or something."

"You can have the original." he offered.

"Oh, no! And artist should always keep the original piece of his works."

"It's alright, I have it memorized."

"I know." She smiled, "Just keep that one and make me a copy?"

"Not a problem, I'll give it to you when you get back to work." John smiled.

"Thank you. I would stay and ask how Hamish is - I haven't seen him in forever - but I think it's about time I go back to my husband." she laughed.

As soon as she was out of earshot, John turned to Sherlock, "You don't make mistakes."

"Of course I do, everyone does." Sherlock said, taking a sip of the water on the table.

"You're not everyone, what was it?"

"You told me not to deduce."

"I added out loud and to other people besides me, now out with it." he demanded.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment before replying, "Mary's pregnant."

"What?!" he gasped, looking over towards her as she wrinkled her nose at the taste of the champagne. "Great, I'm a doctor, and I spend more time with her, shouldn't I have figured this out before you?"

"Oh John, no one could do that."

"Mycroft." he coughed.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing, Love."

"That's what I thought."

John grabbed Sherlock's hand beneath the table, smiling at him as he looked up at the table, running his thumb over his knuckles. Sherlock gripped his hand tightly, loving the feeling of John just being there, of his love and the way he showed it in the smallest ways that Sherlock would never think. All he could do was hold on, and, without him even knowing it, John understood, and knew all he needed to know just by the way Sherlock grasped him tighter in bed, or snuggled slightly closer on the couch, or when he held his hand tighter than necessary.

When it was time for them to clap at the finish of the best man's speech, John was reluctant to let go of Sherlock's hand. Slowly, Sherlock untangled his fingers, clapping politely as John did the same. Smiling towards him, John tried to convey how proud he was that Sherlock was being polite.

After the rest of the speeches, which Sherlock barely got through without throwing or starting something, they were served dinner. Sherlock sighed as a plate filled with food was placed in front of him, looking towards John with an exasperated look.

"Do I-?"

"Don't even ask. Eat, now. You have to feed two, remember? Plus, it's really delicious." John said, cutting off a piece for Sherlock.

Everyone sat and chatted for a while, allowing their stomachs to settle before moving onto cake and then actual partying. Sherlock wondered when he would get the violin, figuring he'd only get it a few seconds before going up because Mary knew he would hide out and play it if she gave it to him too soon. He was utterly bored, John having been talking to other people since dinner started.

Drumming his fingers on the table, he looked around, his vision suddenly filling with a purple bridesmaid dress. Looking up, he found Janine smiling at him, hands on her hips and looking expectantly at him.

"Come on, you said you'd help me." she said.

Sherlock nodded, "I haven't seen one suitable male, but I'll give you what I know if you point out the ones you like."

She smiled, "It sound like you're trying to sell me something. Okay!" she clapped her hands together. "How about him?"

Sherlock stared over in the direction she was pointing before shaking his head, "Girlfriend, actually planning to propose soon."

"What about him?"

"Single, but recently out of a relationship and is the emotional type, you won't get very far."

"Him?"

"Still living with his mother."

"Ew."

"Didn't think so." Sherlock smiled.

Janine looked back at him, folding her hands on her hips and sighing, "There's no one good here besides you. I just wish you weren't..."

He looked at her curiously for a moment before John interrupted, "Gay?"

Sherlock looked over, surprised at the possessive and slightly jealous look on John's face. Janine looked towards him, looking slightly shocked and amused at the same time, recognizing John from when Sherlock first pointed him out.

"The word you're looking for is gay." he said.

"Really? How would you know?" she smirked, glancing over at a speechless Sherlock.

"Because he's my fiancé."

"Ah, well, he didn't mention that." she gritted out with a smile, looking back at Sherlock.

He shrugged, meeting her eyes, "I didn't think it was necessary."

"So do you really know all these things about these people or were you just yanking my chain?"

"I do!" he exclaimed defensively.

"Whatever, I think I'll just go talk to that guy." she pointed, turning up her nose and leaving

"Fine, that doesn't change the fact that he still lives with his mother!" Sherlock yelled after her, making everyone turn to him.

"Too loud." John grunted.

Sherlock glanced around and shrugged, "He does."

John just smiled.

The wedding continued and John finally took pity on Sherlock after he'd played and they'd danced some. Grabbing his coat, he pulled Sherlock up out of his seat, the exhausted man stumbling for a second before regaining his ground. John stabilized him, grasping his hand and pulling him towards the doorway. He laughed as he watched Sherlock's feet drag, the usually lively man worn out.

"We should go out dancing more." John said.

"You're only saying that because I'm quiet and worn out and pliable right now." Sherlock mumbled.

"Well, I'm sure that's only because of the baby, but after you have him or her. I like dancing with you, holding you close, moving to the music."

Sherlock hummed, too tired to respond at the moment. John chuckled at him, hailing a cab and getting a tired Sherlock inside without incident. As he slid in beside him, John felt Sherlock slump down, head falling on his shoulder. Putting his hand around him, John smiled, feeling his fiancé snuggle closer.

They made it, despite a lot of their ups and downs, and they were together, which was the only thing that mattered. As the night grew darker and colder, John held Sherlock closer, not intending to let him go. No matter what was thrown their way, John knew he could handle it as long as Sherlock was the one next to him.

_**The End**_


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